


Stay Young

by hulklinging



Category: In the Flesh (TV), Runaways (Comics), Young Avengers
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Zombies, F/M, Human Experimentation, M/M, Minor Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-02-19 02:43:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2371541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hulklinging/pseuds/hulklinging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Out of shallow graves and family plots they rose, but when the dust is settled Billy has to bite his tongue to hold back what everyone's thinking. "Now what?"</p><p>The Young Avengers in an In The Flesh world. Art by shepherdthomas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The boy stares down at the family photo, and tries to dredge up any spark of memory that connects him with these people. Nothing happens.

"You’re sure this is me?" He meant it to sound casual, but it comes out weak, and more hopeful than he’d like.

It definitely looks like him. Or, more like an alive version of him. Brown eyes, instead of his broken white ones. A hint of a tan. He’s smiling, stuck between a mom and dad who look happy and proud and he wishes he could remember having this photo taken.

"You don’t have a twin, if that’s what you mean." His case worker looks at him expectantly. "We found you! I thought you’d be more excited."

"I just don’t remember any of it, is all." He mutters. He’s not trying to be ungrateful. It just seems a little too alien. Too good to be true? "What… What’s my name?"

She slides him a folder. He’s afraid to touch it. He’s not sure if he wants to read what is apparently his past life out of an official looking folder. “William Kaplan. Died at eighteen, son of Rebecca and Jeff Kaplan. You have two younger brothers, Charles and Daniel. They're fifteen, now.”

His parents would be overjoyed, then, to hear that their eldest had been found. But what would they think of him? He can’t remember anything, even after months on the drugs, watching the people around him start to recall both their time as rabid undead and their lives before. Nothing, even staring at his family.

"…and they’ll be here to pick you up on Sunday!"

"What?" He had tuned out.

The woman raises an eyebrow at him. “On Sunday? You going home?”

"But…" He struggles to slow down his thoughts enough to get them out. It takes him a moment. "But we just found them. I can’t even remember my name, I am obviously not ready to go home!" Home feels weird in his mouth. In his panic, he upturns his folder, sending his past life scattering around him. "None of this looks familiar! These people want their son back, not some… Some half dead blank slate!"

She has every right to call the guards but she doesn’t. He appreciates that.

"You’ve been here a while, William. You are in a balanced, medicated state. You reacted well to the drugs from the beginning. But you haven’t gained any memory since then. If you are ever going to get those memories back -which is still possible!- it’s not going to be here. It’s going to be somewhere that’s familiar. It’s going to come from finding those things that feel familiar."

"And what if that doesn’t happen?" He’s scowling to hide the fact that he’s terrified. "What if nothing comes back?"

"Then you make a new life. You’ve got that as an option, after all." She puts a hand on his shoulder, comforting and grounding, and he hates being touched but he tolerates this, his eyes caught again by the family photo. His family photo.

"Okay," is all he can get out. She gives him a pat and then their session is over. She helps him gather up his life and put it in the folder, then gives it to him.

"We don’t need this anymore, anyway. Read it when you’re ready."

Even as he waits, all nerves, for his family to come for him on Monday morning, the folder remains unread. The photo, however, is in his pocket. His new contacts sting, and he feels weighed down, pinned by the unfamiliar makeup.

"William Kaplan? Your parents are here."

Standing up, the boy who has been told he is William Kaplan goes to meet his parents for the first time.


	2. Chapter 2

His parents are nice. They're kind and they don't flinch when he walks out, or when they feel his cold skin. There are tears in their eyes, happy tears, and William realizes he doesn't know what he died of. He forgot to check. It's not something that left much of a mark. He limps, but that could have happened after the Rising. So too the dent in his chest. Or maybe that was how he died. A fall? An accident? He doesn't remember, not even the pain. Are they seeing a son risen from a disease? A crash? He doesn't know. He should have read his file.

"Come on, Billy. Let's get you home."

Billy. That's his name. That's who he is.

"They told you I don't remember anything, right?" His voice feels too loud, his words too fast, in this small car. The last car he'd been in had been faster. And it's such a silly little thing, such a matter of fact, that it doesn't even register as anything at all.

"Don't worry about that, Billy." His mom's voice is very matter of fact but he still finds it comforting. "Dr. Rao told us everything. If your memories come back slowly, that's totally okay. There's no rush."

Billy hates slow things. That's something he knows hasn't changed. "Thanks. Um. Mom?"

It's just a guess, but her smile is caught in the rear view mirror and he knows it's the right response. Yeah. He can do this. It'll be easy.

Until he has to open the door and enter the house. He's not ready. He can't remember what the inside of the house looks like. He can't imagine what his room will look like (his dad assured him that they had left it alone after he.... You know, only he doesn't know, and now he's too afraid to ask). What will it tell him about himself, and the son he's supposed to be?

A comforting hand on his shoulder. It's his dad, and his mom is on his other side. He takes a breath and quickly twists the doorknob, pushing the door open and stepping into his old life.

He spends a long time just wandering the first floor. He stares at family photos, morbidly curious. He doesn't look sick. Maybe they just didn't take pictures of him when he was? The house is nice and tidy, and his dad hovers before his mom pulls him into the kitchen, starts on dinner. Billy hopes they remember he doesn't need to eat, but can't slow down his thoughts enough to tell them. If he opens his mouth he knows he'll start asking questions, questions he won't be able to stop or filter. Better to just wait, for now. See if some of those questions will be answered in the space around him.

There are shelves and shelves of books, psychology and therapy and some cookbooks. All look read but well kept. There's a newspaper on the coffee table in the living room, and a movie case. It has a phone booth on it and it's probably something Billy's supposed to recognize, but he doesn't.

"I thought, if you don't remember anything, we should probably start from the beginning!" His dad is in the doorway again, smiling, although his eyes are nervous. Billy feels shock at seeing worry there, worry for him. It's a new thing, seeing someone else worry over him. "It was one of your favourite shows, before... Everything."

Yes. Everything. That is the best way to put it, isn't it.

"Sounds good, Dad." Eventually he'll stop stumbling on that. "Um... Where's my room, again?"

It's up the stairs and to the right, he discovers. On the side of the house, with a big window, although the curtain is drawn now. He leaves the light off for a moment, taking in the darkness. There are glowing stars on the ceiling. He wonders if they're supposed to be in constellations or if he made his own.

"Jeff, do you want to pick the boys up from practice, or should I?"

The boys?

His dad is standing at the top of the stairs, watching him as he hovers on the doorstep of his own room. When Billy turns to look at him, he thinks he sees a glint of tears in his dad's eye. He doesn't look close, and his dad turns away anyway.

"I can do it, if you finish supper!" When he turns back, his eyes are dry. "The twins are at football practice right now. And we finally finished converting the garage into their room, so they'll stay out of your hair."

An awkward pause. Right. His twin brothers. "Oh." He should say something else. "I'm excited to meet them. Again. I'm excited to see them, I mean."

His dad is already halfway down the stairs. "They're excited to see you too, don't worry." Billy turns to go back into his room, but sound carries up the stairs easily. "Don't beat yourself up for what you can't remember, okay, kiddo? We're all just happy you're back."

Billy's stomach twists, but his dad is obviously not expecting a response, because within a few seconds he hears the front door open and then close again, and the car pull away. He repeats the line to himself anyway, wanting to imprint it behind his eyelids, because maybe that will make it feel actually true.

"Thanks, dad," he mutters to himself. He means it, too.

He's left alone with his darkened room. His eyes have started to adjust, and he doesn't want to turn on the lights, not just yet. Instead, he walks across the room, stands in front of the heavy curtains. It's dusty in here. They left it how he did. Like a shrine to their dead son? Or did they just not have the heart to throw out his stuff? And then the dead started rising and he's sure they had other concerns.

The moon is probably out by now. He doesn't really remember ever seeing the moon.

He's on the side of the house. The likelyhood of someone staring into their window is slim. Although he admits he wasn't even thinking about that. It's just an impulse, trying to air out a room that is suddenly stifling him.

He throws his curtains open. Looks out. Looks right into the room in the house beside them. A girl's bedroom. There's a girl, long black hair, absolutely gorgeous. She's just in her bra.

"Shit," he says, at the same time that she turns, probably startled by the sudden movement in a dead room. Their eyes meet. She looks shocked, and he can't hear her, but he can read her lips.

"Billy?" She says.

Shit.

Kate stares through the window, not sure if she's imagining it. The boy who can't be Billy Kaplan stares back at her, and then he steps away from the window, throws the curtains back across it. Too slow, though. Movements a little off, like someone who's just a bit stuff. Kate grabs for the walkie sitting on her dresser, but doesn't contact the others. Not yet.

She knows he must be one of those medicated rotters. She had been at Billy's funeral, after all, watched her lifelong neighbour be lowered into the ground, looking happier than she'd seen him in years. And now he's back, but... He doesn't look like a killer. She thought she'd be able to tell, she'd seen so many rotters in her sights since the Rising. But the boy who'd stated back at her hadn't screamed danger. He'd actually looked plain terrified when she'd met his eye.

She takes the walkie and puts it in her pocket. A precaution, that's all. She's a big girl and she can decide if her neighbour poses a threat all by herself. She doesn't need to call anyone else in.

"Going out," she calls behind her as she leaves the house. It's habit, even though her father never acknowledges it even when he is home. She doesn't think he is, actually. Some meeting, town hall, very important. She hadn't paid attention. She cares about her town but she doesn't give a shit about her father.

It's Billy's mother who opens the door. She's smiling, perfectly polite, but there's strain in the corner of her mouth, a tension across her shoulders.

"Kate! Nice of you to stop by. How are you?" Rebecca's eyes flicker to her arm, and the HVF band Kate hadn't bothered to remove. "Not on official business, I hope?"

"Hello, Rebecca." She tries on her most charming smile. "I was wondering if I could say hello to Billy?"

Her eyes are steel. And Kate prides herself on quick reactions but Rebecca's hand is on her arm, yanking her inside and closing the door before she has time to do anything. Her back is pressed against the door and Rebecca's grip is tight enough to bruise.

"Kate. You were very helpful... Before. When Billy passed. And I am grateful for your service in protecting this town. This family." Her voice is calm but Kate would pick five rotters over one protective mother, any day. "But I have just gotten my son back. And if you do anything to put him in danger, all of that won't matter much. Understood?"

Kate takes a moment to find her voice. When she does, she's surprised by how honest, how desperate she sounds. "I just want to see him. I won't put your family in danger, Mrs. Kaplan. I promise." She digs her walkie out of her pocket, and offers it to the woman. "I'm just curious... I need to talk to him. I won't bother you again."

Rebecca stares at her, and then takes the walkie. "I'm making dinner. Jeff will be back soon, with the twins. You're welcome to eat with us, if you behave." Kate had eaten dinner here more than once, although she's been around less lately. As the town moved out of a state of crisis, her father was more demanding of her time, of her returning to school, of her consorting with people he didn't approve of. The Jewish Kaplans, and the unfortunate business with their dead son, fell under that, regardless of how much Kate yelled at him for it. She feels guilty now, though. Charles and Daniel looked up to her, and she hadn't talked to either of them in months now.

"I'd like that, Mrs. Kaplan." She looks at the wall, her eyes happening to find an old family photo. Billy stares back at her, scowling. She swallows. "Sorry for not being around more."

"We've all been busy." Rebecca moves back into the kitchen. "Billy is in his room." 

It takes Kate five more minutes to leave the front hall. Being in here, walking up the steps, it feels surreal. She stares down Billy's door, then knocks, louder than she means to. 

The door opens almost immediately, and she's eye to eye with a dead boy. Her brain can't help but overlay his face from when she's found him over the one staring back at her. Her chest feels oddly tight. 

"Oh. You're... The girl next door. Shit." 

She blinks at him, unsure of exactly what to say. "Yeah. Kate. I've only been your neighbour for ten years." 

And the Billy she'd known would have ducked his head, embarrassed. This Billy can't blush, but by his expression he wouldn't be even if he could. His muscles tense, defensive but not dangerous. She takes a step back anyway, hand reaching for a weapon that's not there.

"Look, I don't remember anything, so excuse me for forgetting the girl next door!" 

"...anything?" She tries to process this and can't. 

"Not a thing." He looks down, and then shuffles backwards, so that he's no longer blocking the door. "Sorry. Did you want to come in, then?" 

She does go in, more to prove to herself that she can than anything else. She perches on the side of the bed, taking in the room like she's never seen it before, like she wasn't the one who helped box up the books and pieces Billy had left behind. 

Actually... 

"I helped clean this all up. You know, after you... Died." Does he remember dying? She doesn't want to ask. Someone had probably told him already. It didn't need to come from her. "So if you want help unpacking, I can do that."

"Oh. Uh, okay?" He doesn't know what to do with himself, in this space. And his eyes are a little off, the wrong kind of brown. His skin a little strange. She shivers, not wanting to imagine what he looks like without the makeup. That is something she is not ready for, will probably never be okay with. "I don't know what's in them, or what's missing, so that would probably be helpful." 

"Your mom couldn't do it, so I volunteered. Was the least I could do." She's tight, bowstring tight, ready to fire. "Don't worry, your comics are safe." It's supposed to be a joke. It's also a test, her trying to see if there'd be some hint of relief, some memory still there. 

He stares at her. Nothing. She is probably going about this all wrong. Why is she offering to help him? They weren't friends when he was alive, she doesn't owe him anything. Except there's a feeling at the bottom of her gut, a whispered what if - what if they really had cured them? She had always shot to kill, putting down monsters, or so she thought. But the boy in front of her doesn't look like a monster. He just looks lost, and sad. 

"...you said your name was Kate?" 

"Kate Bishop. Yeah." 

"Were we friends?" 

She could lie. She could do anything she wanted. She could even say they used to hang out all the time, alone. Lure him away. Put the rotter down. The HVF would call her a hero. But the thought of never being welcome and Rebecca Kaplan's bright dinner table again is what stops her. It's definitely not how pathetic and lost Billy looks. 

"Not really. We were in the same grade and we were neighbours, but we didn't really talk more than polite hellos." 

"Oh. Okay." He can't stand still, and it's kind of jarring. Billy often seemed frozen, far away. Now he's animated, always moving or tapping or shifting his weight. "So... You probably don't know who my friends were? Or if I had a girlfriend or anything?" 

Wait. A girlfriend? 

"Billy, you've been out of the closet since third grade." This is surreal. This is too bizarre. He's giving her this shocked look, but she can't dwell on it or she'll lose her head entirely. "And isn't there a file or something for all this? Or you could, you know, ask your parents, since they actually know you-" 

"I can't ask them!" He takes a quick step towards her, and she flinches. He shifts direction, perching on the edge of his desk. "They've been so good about the memory thing, but it's obvious it bothers them and I don't want to... I don't want to disappoint them." 

This is 100% Billy Kaplan, worrying about disappointing people who are just happy that he's back home.  He doesn't know, she realizes. He doesn't know that he killed himself. Oh my god. 

"I'll help," she says, whispers into the space between them. "I don't know everything, but I can at least give you the basics. Old teachers, classmates. And who's still around, too." 

He's looking at her like she's something special. Like she's his sun. She remembers who it was that used to get these looks from Billy, and swallows, mouth gone dry. 

"Okay, you must have a yearbook or a photo album or something here. Let's start with that." 

And if there's a blonde boy with bright blue eyes that she kind of skips over, well, that's fine. That's a conversation for another day. That's a story that should come from someone else, someone who's not just pretending to care. She doesn't want to be the one to tell him that his only friend before death is the reason he's dead, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: vague descriptions of medical torture, mentions of suicide, homophobic language.

Billy has been home a week. He spends this week trying to find the shadows of his old self in this house. He watches his favorite shows, with Dad. He flips through the photo albums Mom pulls out for him. It was him that asked, which is why he feels even worse when he’s hardly able to open them. It feels much too voyeuristic.

It’s easier with new situations, ones he knows he’s never been in before. He watches Kate at dinner with his family, making the twins laugh. They, at least, are as awkward and shy around him as he is around them. They’ve barely said anything to him, although Charlie had shook his hand, oddly formal, while Danny had shyly said he was glad Billy was home. It won’t be long before they’re older than Billy, and that strikes him as so odd and strange that for a moment he is frozen, unable to move. It’s a terrible feeling, one Billy hopes he won’t have to deal with again.

Kate and her brothers are like old friends. She leaves that night laughing, having finally promised to teach the boys to shoot.

“Soon, once the weather gets better.”

As they jump up and hug her, both too excited to be embarrassed, Billy notices Mom’s proud smile. When she sees Billy looking, she leans towards him.

“Kate’s a member of the HVF. It takes quite an exceptional person, to come and welcome you home without trying to sneak in a weapon.”

With a jolt, he realizes his mom must have searched Kate, when she came in. For him. So he’d be safe.

His smile probably looks as dorky as it feels, but it doesn’t care.

Kate proves to be invaluable. Perhaps because she is entirely new, he doesn't worry about what any past Billy would have done. Instead, he gets to know her, little facts she keeps tucked behind her ear and in the corner of rooms. He knows he's supposed to be learning about himself, but he can't help but find learning about her just as interesting.

Billy likes comics and superheroes and he has notebooks full of an untidy scrawl. He likes to write, Kate tells him. About things, about things that never happened and the very benign. He tries to read one notebook, but it starts off with a story about an alien prince and then two pages in switches to a journal entry about how he got thrown into the lockers hard enough to make his head spin. The journal entry is dated early 2009. He doesn't even remember what is supposed to happen to the prince. 

Kate listens to him ramble when he gets frustrated, seeming to smile in spite of herself. And billy smiles back, because this sucks but at least he's got help. Kate calls her own rising 'uneventful', but as they go on, she hints at a father who somehow saw the rising as an investment opportunity, and a mother who died in the early days, when no one knew yet what was happening. And there's no way billy can blame her, then, for joining the HVF. It gave her a family, and it made her too busy to mourn. 

When he tries to apologize for her mother, though, she gets cross.

"Look, either I accept that... That the PDS had no control over themselves, at which point you don't need to apologize, or I blame you all for everything. It can't be a bit of both, so leave it, okay?"

He leaves it. He moves through the days and each one he feels more comfortable. As long as he makes sure his makeup and contacts are on before Kate comes over, she treats him like a particularly forgettable friend. Not a monster. And in that first week, that's what he feels like. A friend. A person.

He's been home a week. Then the dreams start. 

He becomes aware slowly. He hasn't dreamed before, not ever, as far as his memories are concerned. He's aware that this isn't happening right now. That doesn't make it any less real. That doesn't make it any less disturbing. 

He first becomes aware of his breathing. In and out, slow and difficult, which makes him panic, because he shouldn't be having trouble breathing. He shouldn't need to breathe at all.

The next thing to dawn on him is the straps. Big, thick straps, leather or something similar. They're too tight, across his chest. They're crushing him. In his dream he is blind, but every noise is amplified. Something somewhere is leaking.There is a humming, so there is power somewhere. Why has he been left here, in the dark? He doesn't know, but he hopes they forget him. He hopes that this is it, that the dream will end and he will wake up soon.

Footsteps, all around him. A voice. 

"...no change from the last time they tested it, really, what they're hoping to accomplish is beyond me."

He hates this voice. 

"But this subject has been the exception before, it stands to reason to administer the drug to it before scrapping the project."

This one too. He hates and fears them, somewhere deep, somewhere that has nothing to do with memory even, and everything to do with instinct, pure self preservation. 

"I'm beginning to think the Warden just likes this one in particular."

He'll wake up soon. 

"Disgusting. Can we avoid any talk of the Warden's favoritism? Makes my skin crawl."

He has to wake up soon. 

"Fair enough. Just pass me the vial and we can get this over with."

There is another voice, underneath this all, so quiet he missed it at first. It's pleading, is him pleading. 

"Please don't please stop please please please don't-"

They ignore him. He must wake up soon he wants to wake up _Iwanttowakeup..._

Something is stabbing into his arm. It runs down his veins like fire, and only when it reaches his throat and silences his begging does he come to.

Jessica Jones, his official care-taker-person, said that these flashbacks are not uncommon, that some remember their recovery more than others. But Billy never met any Warden, at the treatment facility he was brought to. And he remembers the sound of his heart pounding, it echoes in his ears still. Which means that this is his first recovered memory. 

He was tortured, or tested on, while still alive.

How did he die, he wonders. And how did his loving family let him scream himself hoarse, all strapped in, pleading for the strangers to stop, to leave him be?

"Did I miss a lot of school?"

Kate looks up from the comic she is reading. In spite of her instance that she was just reading them for his sake, she is at least three issues ahead of Billy, and she looks annoyed at being interrupted.

"What?"

"Like, did I miss a lot of school?"

Kate's frowning. Something in him twists. "No, not really. I mean, aside from the..." She trails off, and he knows he should just leave it, but he can still feel the straps across his chest, getting tighter and tighter as he gasps. So he pushes.

"Aside from what? What happened to me, Kate?"

A part of him is relieved, though. She knows something. There's an explanation, then, for the dreams. They fit into his past life, well enough that even the neighbour knows where.

She puts down the comic, after carefully marking her spot. "A... schoolmate of ours died."

Not what he had been expecting.

"He was in the army. He died, and everyone went to the funeral, of course. He just had his mom, so she needed the support, and it's not like it's a big town. Everyone knew him, at least a little. He was... Well, you and him weren't exactly friends, but he'd been nice to you. You liked him. So you were definitely there."

She's not saying something. Billy can tell. But he lets her finish.

"Afterwards, a few of his friends found you. They didn't like that you had been at the service." Her face twists into something ugly. "Apparently, you being there looked bad. They couldn't have people thinking that their friend was a faggot."

He flinches at the word, and puts down the book he had been pretending to browse through. The cover is ripped. He doesn't remember ripping it. Kate doesn't seem to want to continue, but he can hazard a guess.

"Got the shit beaten out of me?" He's trying to sound flippant, because hey it doesn't really matter, within a few months he was dead, within a year he was back up again, it doesn't really matter at all, and the anger he feels, pooling in his empty stomach, making his fingertips tingle with faux-sensation, that's just as useless.

"You almost died," Kate whispers. "I... me and my mom made your mom a cake. It was... a pretty shitty attempt, but I wanted to help. And then you came home, and I didn't do anything." She hits the ground, her hand curled into a fist, and Billy realizes he had misread her reaction. He thought she was sad, about the death and the near death, but it's anger in her fists, now, and guilt, shame in her voice. "I knew how to deal with you being dead, but I didn't know how to help you when you were alive. And then... we graduated, a month later. By the summer you were dead for real." She finally looks at Billy, for the first time since she started talking. And she really looks at him, and even under all of the coverup and contacts, he feels naked. "I'm sorry, Billy. I should have helped sooner."

"It's fine," he says, voice rough. She scoffs, disbelieving. "No! No, I mean it. It's okay, really. It doesn't matter." And he means it, he does. "I was... probably really unhappy. And I can't even remember that anymore. So it worked out. And now you know what to do next time."

This gets him a smile and an eyebrow rise. "Next time a bullied classmate almost dies and then does die and comes back as a zombie?"

He smiles back, and decides to mention the dreams another time. "Yeah. Totally." They've had enough serious talk, for the day. Instead, he lets his smile stretch into something almost cocky, and says "Although if you still feel guilty, you can make it up to me by going on a walk with me sometime soon. You can be my bodyguard."

Silence. Maybe it was too soon... Billy has just been going crazy, cooped up all day, almost bouncing off the walls. When the twins are at school and everyone's at work and Kate's not over he almost loses his mind with the boredom of it. 

Then, after an unbearable pause, Kate nods. "...sure. Yeah. I can do that." There had been no sign of the HVF protesting reintegration, and he'd be with her, anyway. Safe. "Sounds like a plan."

Billy's still smiling hours later. That night, he curls up in bed and doesn't even worry about what's waiting when he closes his eyes. Because when he opens them again, he's okay.

He's okay.

He swears he's okay. He leaves the light on and pretends to be okay.

It's been almost two weeks. Billy dreams of being strapped down and blind every night. Tomorrow, him and Kate are going on a walk. He didn't tell his mom. He doesn't want to worry her (she's already worried). He's agitated, for no good reason, and he knows it. He excuses himself early from family dinner, goes up to the upstairs bathroom and closes the door. Usually he takes the makeup off in his room, and doesn't look. But tonight, in the bright lights and big mirrors, he strips it all off. He stares at his new face, the only one he remembers. 

"Something's wrong," he mutters, but he doesn't know what. If he could just remember how he died. It's been too long to ask. He thinks he knows, in the broken tone of Kate's sorry, in the sideways glances of his mother. But he doesn't know for sure. "Tomorrow will help," he says it out loud, trying to make the monster in the mirror believe him. Then he shuts off the light and climbs into bed. He lies awake for a long time, every sound echoing in his head, keeping him up. It's well past the time he can hear his parents climbing the stairs when he finally submits to his dreams. They're scary, sure, but at least he knows they're not real anymore.

Only tonight, the sense of being in a dream is gone. He isn't aware that he's going to wake up. All he's aware of is the fact that the straps around him feel looser than what he's used to. His head is spinning, but when he opens his eyes, there's light. He can see.

He squints through a shattered windshield, feeling something wet dripping down his face.

 _It's blood,_ he realizes. It takes him far too long to piece the next thought together. _It's my blood._

His chest hurts. He looks down, at the seatbelt that kept him in but sure didn't save his life. His breath is bubbling. That's a really bad sign, probably. 

The seat next to him is empty. That is a Bad Sign. There's supposed to be someone with him. But there isn't.

_Oh my god, I'm going to die._

The thought should scare him, but he's too far gone to muster anything more than a light frustration. It's not fair, but at least it's over. No more tests. No more waking up to the same shit day after day. He's done.

He shuts his eyes. Slowly, his chest stops hurting. His heart is a soft murmur in his ears, and then even that is gone.

Billy wakes up, slow and alone and afraid. 

He should be happy. His memories are coming back. He just remembered his death! That means he doesn't ever have to read the file, hidden under his bed like some dirty secret. It just... isn't lining up, though. The timeline feels off. There's something wrong.

He can't sleep. He can't sit still. It's five am, and he's looking up the statistics for vehicular suicide. Because Kate, his mother, they'd both hinted... or maybe he was just driving, drunk, maybe he didn't mean to but didn't fight it, maybe that's why Kate was acting like she could have saved him.

But what about that place?

He had been running away. Had he maybe been kidnapped? And months later, found dead, it would have looked like a runaway, like he'd just panicked. But who had been with him, then? Another kid from the strange torture place? Did he live? If Billy could find them, he could ask them what exactly had happened. Then he'd know for sure. First hand witness and everything.

The door rings. He's fretted away the morning, somehow deep in half memories and wikipedia statistics for hours. It's nine thirty. It's Kate. They're going outside. A walk will help.

He grabs a hoodie and throws it over his head, before moving as fast as he's able down the stairs. In his rush, he skips the mirrors. He's forgotten his makeup. And it's not Kate at the door. 

"Hey, fag," says the boy in front. He's maybe kinda handsome, except that there's something cruel in his eyes. "Heard you were back."

His mother's in the office, on the other side of the house. Everyone else is probably still asleep, but if he yells...

Too late. The boy yanks him by one arm, and he stumbles onto the front porch. As Billy tries to wrap his head around what's happening, mind buzzing with a thousand escape routes that would work if he was in any way capable of moving fast, the boy reaches behind Billy, uncomfortably close, and shuts the door behind him. Billy belatedly realizes that there are three boys on his doorstep. One, a black boy with a bored expression, stands a little further back. He won't even look at Billy. The other one is probably part giant. He's huge and he's scowling in a way that makes Billy take a step back, so his back is pressed against the front door. 

"Looks like you forgot your makeup today, huh?"

The boys are all wearing HVF armbands. He is very fucked.

It takes Billy two tries to find his voice. "Yeah, well when I heard you guys were coming over, I didn't bother to look my best."

It's not bad, for a first snark in the face of danger.

Okay, it's pretty bad. The whole situation is bad. Hopefully Kate will come soon... except he's not wearing his makeup. If Kate comes, he's not even sure if she'll help him. Not when he's like this.

The ringleader gets in his face, close enough that Billy can pretend he feels the heat of his breath. "I can't believe that you came back. I thought people like you just stayed in your graves. Although, this does mean that we get to see each other again. Guess I can't complain about that."

"This is stupid," the boy in the back mutters. "Greg, we have patrol. Come on."

"Yeah?" Greg turns, and Billy's fists clench. "What are we supposed to patrol for, Eli?"

"Rabids," Eli replies, at the same time as the giant says "Rotters." Greg nods.

"Rotters. And we don't even have to patrol. There's one right here." He turns back towards Billy. "So, how does this work? Do you thank me before or after I stab you? Never understood the whole wanting to die thing myself, but hey, a coward's a cowards, no matter how long they spent in the ground-"

Billy is learning more and more about himself every day. On this day, he learns that he is impulsive and doesn't take consequences into account. At all.

He learns this in the moment he decides to punch Greg in his smug face.

There's a distant stinging in his hand, but it is so worth it, because Greg is stumbling backwards, holding his bleeding nose. The crack Billy heard was either his knuckles or Greg's nose, oh he hopes it was Greg's nose. He doesn't have time to check, though, because as Greg steps back, the giant is barreling forward, and his fist meets Billy's stomach hard, hard enough for him to feel it, to really feel it, and he's on his knees before he remembers making the choice to fall. His vision has gone weird, and he doesn't see the foot until it connects with his side, and this time the crunch is definitely him. He whines, a pathetic noise he immediately hates, and he knows knows he has to stand up, or he's gonna get kicked again, but he's having a hard time finding his legs.

"Hey!"

A new voice.

"Oh shit," Eli says. "Kate, look, put that down-"

Something whistles by him and hits the door. Everyone goes silent. There is the clacking of shoes approaching him, and then a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Billy? You okay?"

Kate's voice. He looks up, and Kate's face comes into focus. She's pale, and when she takes in his white eyes, dead skin, she takes a step back. He doesn't blame her. But then she turns around, and Billy leans against the door, head spinning, as she puts both of her hands on the biggest boy's chest and pushes. He rocks backwards on his heels, too surprised to protest before she gets in his face.

"You come here again, Kessler, the warning shot will be in your hand! Got it?" And then she rounds on Greg, who's still got one hand on his nose. There's blood on his shirt. Billy hopes it stains. "And you! I see you come near me again, you'll wish you're dead! And that includes Billy. Do you understand?"

"Wow." His voice is nasally but he someone still sounds so smooth. "To think, Kurt was telling us you'd come back eventually. Guess he was wrong on that count." His voice gets louder. "Didn't take you for a faglover, Kate. Does he make you wear a wig when you suck his rotten pri-" 

As satisfying as it was to punch Greg in the face, it is just as satisfying to watch Kate do it. Greg goes down, swearing, and Kessler and Eli are both shouting something, and Kate's yelling back at them, and suddenly Billy's world is shifting. He falls backwards a bit as the door opens, and the csound of a cokcing gun is lud enough to shut everyone up.

"Boys," Rebecca Kaplan says, pleasant but stern. "I don't think we have need of the HVF today. And I think you have somewhere else to be, anyway. Why don't you run along?"

They run. Kate turns towards Rebecca, and her cheeks are pink. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Kaplan. About your door."

Billy looks up at the door as he slowly gets to his feet. Right next to the doorknocker is an arrow, head buried in the wood of the door. It even has purple fletching. Kate is next to him, and he sees the quiver on her back, and the bow, back in her hand now.

 _She's so amazing,_ he thinks, as she helps him inside, and his mom shuts the door behind them, and they get him into the kitchen for morning coffee and injury assessment. _So is my mom. I love my mom. I love her._

_Wait._

Shit.

The truth hits him, as Kate looks over his knuckles before beginning to wrap them up.

_I think I'm in love with Kate Bishop._

He doesn't know what to make of that at all.


	4. Chapter 4

Teddy is no war hero. 

He's got a medal on his chest and metal in his chest and he doesn't recognize himself in the mirror anymore. And when that fact overwhelms, and he lashes out, he doesn't recognize his hand, either, cut open but not bleeding. 

He waits in the back of the truck, and is glad that with all of his stitches and staples holding him together, no one will ever think to ask why the ones on his hands look a little more fresh. He tries to remember how to breathe, which is still a comfort even though it's not a necessity anymore. He tries not to think of how strange it will be, staring at people who have grown up while he's just fallen to pieces. 

He's no war hero. A war hero wouldn't be shaking at the thought of seeing his mother. 

The car pulls up, and he can't do this. But the door is opening, his escorts are standing and the army taught him how to march on no matter what. It's the only thing that gets him on his feet. Walking out into the sun, he realizes that if this were anyone else, if he was watching this happen, he would want to sketch it. A soldier returning. A rebirth, of sorts. But this isn't some hero returning. It's just him. 

The first face he sees is his mother's, and suddenly the other people there just disappear. He should be dignified about this. He should not run (or stumble, it's as fast as he can manage now) to her and hold her tight but he does anyway, and she holds him tight and he feels like all his pieces knit a little closer together, safe in her arms. She's shaking and she whispers 'my boy' into his ear in a teary voice that sounds exactly the same as it did when he was five and had a nightmare. He stays there longer than he should, before turning around to see who else had gathered there. The soldiers who brought him there give him a nod, and he salutes them as best he can. There are a few faces here, people he grew up around, some of his mom's friends. He doesn't want to leave his mom's side, but he makes sure to smile a thanks at each one. He doesn't always get a smile back, and there are a group off to the side, all in makeshift army fatigues, who won't even meet his eye. He thinks he recognizes one of them as a classmate, a black boy whose glaring at the ground like he wants to break it. Break something. 

That look is for Teddy. He knows it. He doesn't really remember interacting with this boy at all, but he hates him. Because of what he is. Because he came back in pieces.

There's no sign of Billy Kaplan. Teddy tries to hide his disappointment. His stomach is all twisted, and if he were living he'd probably throw up. He hadn't seen Billy since he told him he'd joined the army, but he remembers Billy's face in perfect detail. In that moment he is screaming. He's hurt, hurt that Teddy's leaving, that he didn't tell him, hurt that he cares at all. And Teddy doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to tell this beautiful brave boy that he's scared, he's running away, he can't stay here, can't live the lie anymore. Although why he thought he could stop lying in the army is anyone's guess. He doesn't, his lies follow him right up to his death and they're the only part of him still intact afterwards.

"I'll write," he said. And Billy laughed. It wasn't a nice laugh. It hurt Teddy in a way he couldn't quite describe. 

"Don't bother," he muttered. And that was that. The delicate thing they had, made of fragile what ifs and gossamer glances at each other when no one else is around, that's gone. And that's it. He can leave easily now, there's nothing left here for him.

Well, nothing but the woman in front of him, tears in her eyes, a hand on his shoulder. And he realizes he's exhausted, that the people here aren't here to see him but to see the spectacle that is his life now. He is the freak show and they are staring through his bars. His mom must see something in his face, because she steps forward. 

"Thank you so much for coming to welcome Theodore home. It means so much to us." And then she leads him home. 

The house looks different, and that surprises him. It shouldn't, but he's already rubbed raw by the emotions of the day, and seeing the house he grew up in moved around makes his head spin. There is also a man at the table, back to the door. The table has chairs all around it, which is such a small thing but suddenly Teddy can't breathe. He and his mother had always had mismatched chairs, and not a lot. These chairs match the table and there is a full set. And a man sitting in one. He stands at the doorway, awkwardly, as his mother walks up to the stranger and kisses his cheek. 

"Kurt, Teddy's home." Her voice breaks, and Teddy thinks about how it must have nearly killed her, getting the news. 

The man turns toward him, stands. He's taller than Teddy, his mother's age, and something in his stance says military. A soldier. His eyes lock with Teddy's and Teddy has to resist the urge to stand at attention. After a moment, he smiles, and walks towards Teddy, hand extended. 

"Theodore. It's so nice to finally meet you. Sarah has told me so much about you, of course. I'm Kurt. Welcome home."

Teddy's gaze shifts from this Kurt to his mother and back. Oh. The change in furniture makes sense, then, and his mom keeping the house. Too big for a grieving mother. But maybe the perfect size for a woman and her man. 

"Nice to meet you, sir."

The handshake is short. No one wants to shake hands with the dead for longer than they have to. And Teddy is tired, so tired, and hopefully there's still a bed in his old room because that is where he is headed. He takes the steps slow, which is frustrating but that's just how it is now. And then he is pushing open the door to his room and he can't help but let out a breath he'd been holding since he walked in. His room is untouched. His walls are still covered in half finished doodles, drawn straight on the wall in spots. Like he thought he was coming back. There are a few sports trophies in the corner, there mostly because he had nowhere else to put them. His bed is made, he remembers making it the morning he left. When he smooths a hand over it, he realizes he's shaking. It's all a bit much, being here. The room is small and full of someone who died, he died, and his mother had left everything. He wasn't supposed to come back, so what was she gonna do? Just leave all this stuff, lock it all up and pretend he was coming home?

Except he did. 

He sits on his bed, head in his hands, and it doesn't matter how tired he is. He doesn't sleep at all. 

At seven there is a light rap on the door. His mother sticks her head in, and she smiles, and he wants to sketch this smile, and maybe now that he's home again his fingers will remember how. 

"I have work today, but they said it's okay if I skip. Do you want company?"

Memories of the hours she used to have to work to etch out a living for them swell over him. They may be old but they still sting, like how people who have starved in the past hold onto that desperate hunger (he is an expert on desperate hunger). His mom has a good job, now. Better than when he left. He can't ask her to put that in jeopardy, especially since he had probably caused enough problems when he died in the first place. 

"It's alright, Mom. Really." He tries a smile, feels staples pulling. "We can have dinner together, okay? Go to work, I've got... I've got a lot of stuff to clean up here, anyway."

And she hesitates but she listens to him, respects that he wants - needs - space right now. He listens to her make coffee, bustle around the kitchen in that 'I'm trying to be quiet but I'm not that great at it' way of hers. It's comforting, and he manages to doze off to the sounds of his mother leaving for work. It's fitful, nightmarish sleep, but he feels better for it when he wakes up. And then it's digging around his room, finding one of his stashes of nice pencils, sketch paper, and he tries to remember how to make the pencil and paper connect.

His hands are stiff, from missed practice, from rigour mortis. He can't get his mom's smile right, which is frustrating because he knows he used to. So he digs out old sketchbooks, trying to find what he's doing differently. 

Big mistake. 

He drew his mom, yeah. And sometimes neighbours, or classmates. But the one who would sit for him, the one he liked to draw most, was Billy Kaplan. And he is everywhere, in these pages, soft watercolours chasing the colour in his cheeks, the depths of his eyes, crinkling in the corner of his smiles. He liked to sketch him out in soft blues, and then fill him in. It gave him an excuse to stare. 

Teddy hasn't indulged in the 'I wonder if he mourned me' thoughts. He's too much a coward, too afraid that the answer is no. He really ruined that for himself, didn't he. And now he's back but not in any way that makes for a good apology. Broken, a failure. When you die a hero you're supposed to stay dead. 

There's a Batman quote about that.

God, he's a mess. 

Making a decision, he shoves all of his old sketchbooks under his bed. Enough wallowing. Time for a walk. A quick touch up of makeup and struggle with contacts later, he's ready to go. It isn't until he gets downstairs and almost to the door that he remembers he's not the only one home. 

"Going somewhere, Theodore?"

"Huh?" Oh, it's Kurt. Teddy's not sure how to act around his mom's man. She'd dated a bit, when he was younger, but no one had ever moved in. Well, he had been gone a long time. He's glad she wasn't alone. It will just take a bit of time, for him. His problem, not Kurt's. "Just wanted to walk around. I've been gone a while, I'm sure even a small town like this has managed to change a bit." He takes a stab at a smile, which makes his face pull uncomfortably, but he'll take it.

Kurt apparently doesn't. He raises an eyebrow at Teddy, and Teddy's never had a dad, but there's something very father-like in Kurt's look. Teddy isn't sure he likes it.

"Of course the place has changed. The Rising made us all change." Maybe Teddy's just being paranoid, but he can't help but mentally add a 'some more than others' to the end of that. "Have you done your shot?"

And now Teddy really feels like a kid getting chided by a parent, because he hasn't. Not that he's close to twenty four hours yet, but still. He's going out. He should have thought of that.

"I'll do that first."

Except he can't twist his arm the right way to do it himself. Which means he's going to have to ask Kurt to help him. The man is in the kitchen when he comes downstairs, shot in hand. Teddy has to mentally repeat the mantra a few times before he can bring himself to ask the man to help him. But Kurt agrees right away, and does the shot quickly and efficiently, and Teddy doesn't even have a flashback this time, which is a bonus. When Teddy moves to put his neurotrypceline back upstairs, Kurt stops him.

"You might as well keep it down here, since me or your mother will have to help you with it, anyway."

He's not wrong. So Teddy nods and tucks it away in a drawer in the kitchen, next to the spare batteries. It works. Make sense. Why does it bother him?

If everything Kurt says or does is making him annoyed, he needs this walk more than he thought.

"I'll be back before Mom comes home," he says, and walks out of his house. He has no plans for where he's heading, or what he's doing. He almost goes back in to grab a sketchbook, but that's more out of old habit than anything. He definitely doesn't want to draw in public until he gets more practice in, and today he wants to be as inconspicuous as possible. So he sticks his hands deep in his pockets, and decides that a wander around the neighbourhood is good enough, for today.  
And his neighbourhood definitely doesn't include Billy's house. That is across town, that is too long a walk for his first day home. Too many people he might run into, people who are half familiar and who don't want to see him. Billy is one of those people. So no, he'll stick to the neighbourhood he grew up in.

It has changed, though. Kurt was right. It's little things. The Grey's garden is nothing but dead weeds now. Mrs. Grey used to love that garden. Apparently not anymore. The corner store has bars on its windows. Teddy had seen the numbers, it was part of the rehabilitation center program. Know what's changed. Knows what they did, before the drugs. The number of Risen, the number of PDS sufferers who are now medicated and back out in the world. The number of those killed in the Rising are just estimates, and Teddy remembers being surprised. He thought the number would have been bigger. It hadn't looked big, on paper.

Now, though, walking through his hometown, it feels giant. A weight on his back. The numbers are real, here. They're in the people missing at the dinner tables, people he knew. 

I should go to the cemetary, he thinks. That's easier than asking who the town lost. He'd do that soon.

And what would he do, if Billy was one of those killed in the Rising? His chest tightens, and it's not just staples pulling. But no. No, Billy was clever. He is clever. He's fine. It was mostly people who couldn't run away, who died in the Rising. Billy is good at running away.

It's something they have in common.

His wanderings bring him to the park at the end of his street. It's a small park, some swings and a sad looking slide. It would be straight up pathetic if it didn't border on the actual forest that snuck close on this side of town. There's been a new addition to the park since he's been gone- A fence, almost eight feet tall, cutting the park off from the woods. Makes sense. Can't have rotters sneaking so close to the suburbs. Teddy wonders how far the fence stretches. All the way around the houses, too? Around the whole town? He doesn't remember seeing a fence coming into town, although he will admit that he had other things on his mind.

He parks himself on a swing, not trying to make it move, just letting it suspend him. He didn't expect to be be so bothered by the changes. But it's the little things, it's the cutlery being in a different drawer and the extra jacket in the closet. It's the fence, and the bars on the windows. It's how he hasn't seen anyone else on his little walk. It's weird, it's like he's trespassing on someone else's dream. He learned very young how to morph his personality to suit those around him, how to squish himself into just the right shape to fit in. He did it at school, and in the army it worked just as well. But he's nowhere near as flexible as he used to be, and he can no longer just bury the things about him that people wouldn't like. Its written on his face and tucked into each eye.

Billy would be proud, really. He hated it, the many faces of Teddy Altman, never sure whether it was okay to smile at him in the hallways or not. Billy wore every abnormality like armor, like the little pride flag patch stuck to the corner of his backpack. Its what had drawn Teddy to him in the first place, really. The bravest boy he knew. 

Teddy wanted to be brave, so he played sports and he joined the army and then he got all blown up and he's back now, mostly, but still no braver.

And because he's no braver, he goes home.


	5. Chapter 5

Needless to say, Bill’s first foray into the outside world is delayed, after his first little experiment went so badly. Kate is in a mood for days, although Billy overhears her and his mother talking about how it wouldn't be a good idea to mention the incident to anyone. There's no real law enforcement, the community still depending on the HVF while the remains of the police scrap themselves back together. Making a big deal about it would just draw attention to Billy, and since no other PDS sufferers had openly returned to their small town, that would do more harm than good. Anyway, getting trounced by a girl is probably enough to keep the boy away, at least for a little while.

The incident also means that Billy can finally ask Kate about her time with the HVF. He kinda milks the whole thing, and she knows it too, but she smiles after a moment and indulges him. They're sitting on his bed, her perched on the corner reading, him up against the headboard, trying to make sense of a notebook. If he's honest with himself, he's looking for more information on the prince, the one he was writing about in the other journal. But this notebook is even less coherent than the last. He's getting a feeling that the prince wasn't just a prince, that maybe he was a boy, a boy Billy used to know.

"So, you used to…” Hunt. “...work with them, then?" Kate looks up, unsure what he’s talking about. When she realizes who he means, she rolls her eyes, but moves her bookmark to the page she's on in her book, and closes it. Billy puts the notebook down, and leans towards her without meaning to, anticipating more of Kate than she's let on before.

"Well, we all went to school together. Greg, he was the one who called you a... fag. That one. I'm almost positive he was one of the ones responsible for putting you in the hospital. Kessler definitely was. Kessler was the tall one. The other one, that's Eli. We used to be friends. We went on a date once, actually. Last year." She laughs. "Feels like it was ages ago. We joined the HVF together. We fight well together, I guess. But I'm pretty over fighting."

"Yeah, you're a total pacifist, now," he teases, because she gets a dreamy look on her face when she talks about her bow, something one would usually expect to see on the face of someone talking about their loved ones. She scowls at him.

"So I love shooting. Shut up. I'm not interested in beating up a bunch of rotters with a bunch of overgrown high school bullies, thanks."

"Point taken. I'm very thankful for that, by the way. I don't think I've told you that in the last few hours, so there you go."

When he talks to Kate, he notices he talks faster. Words aren't such a halting thing. In fact, sometimes he talks too fast, his words all slurring together, and Kate has to put up a hand, ask him to repeat himself. It feels right though, comfortable. Like his skin is finally starting to fit.\

"So, did you just up and leave, then?"

Kate shrugs. "They announced people would start coming back. Everyone was so angry about it. Shouting, big macho statements. I realized I was tired of it all. I thought, if something goes wrong with reintegration, we'd hear about it. I didn't suddenly start leaving my bow at home, or anything. But I told them I wasn't interested in..." She blushes. Billy thinks about how stunning she is. "I wasn't interested in picking off sleepwalkers. I don't think anyone realized how alive you would be."

"God, Kate, we're only partially deceased."

This earns him another eyeroll.

It's been a month since his return. His dreams have given him no more hints as to who Billy Kaplan was, but he's starting to feel pretty comfortable with who Billy Kaplan is. He even wanders out into the woods to watch Kate give his brothers their first lesson in archery. Laughing as they both fail to live up to their boasts about hitting the targets in the first hour, he almost feels normal. Charlie flips him the bird, which only makes him laugh harder. Afterwards, they're all walking back, Charlie and Kate arguing over who would win in a shooting contest, Katniss or Legolas ("Elf eyes, Kate! Elf eyes!") and Billy is just content to listen, when Danny bumps shoulders with him.

"Hey," he says, quiet enough that Billy has to lean in to hear him clearly. "I'm really sorry, Billy."

"Huh?" Billy thinks about it for a moment, but he has no idea what his brother is apologizing for. "What for?"

Danny frowns, staring blankly ahead at his brother. "We didn't know what to do, before. We still don't, really. But we're really glad you're happy now."

"Oh." Billy shocks himself by feeling a little tight in the chest. He wouldn't choke up over this. That would just embarrass the both of them. "Dude, don't worry about it. It's fine. It all worked out, kinda."

Danny stops. "Dude." He sounds very unimpressed. "You're a zombie."

"Hey, I did say kinda."

"Jerk." He knocks their shoulders together again, a little harder this time. Billy laughs, trying to remember if either of the twins had initiated this kind of ready contact with him before. He doesn't think so.

"Just, if you get sad again, tell me or Charlie, okay?”

Billy stumbles in surprise, and stares at his younger brother. Danny won’t meet his eyes.

“I get not telling Mom, or Dad, but tell one of us. If it gets bad again. Please, Billy?” And then Danny does look up at him, and there’s this weird pain in Billy’s stomach, a mix of guilt and shame. He doesn’t remember his little brothers, not at all, but he knows they’ve grown up, while he’s been gone. He feels like he’s being told off. And he feels proud, of these two, who had to grow up fast, who watched their brother die and the world go to hell and somehow turned out okay.

“I will.” And because that’s not enough, he smiles, as real as he can make it, and reaches out, ruffling his brother’s hair. Danny starts at the contact, but he smiles back, which Billy counts as a success. “I promise.”

And he means it, he does. His journals talk about how hollow he felt, like everything people said around him fell into him, echoed around his insides, made him feel overwhelmed even when he shut everyone out. But none of these words ring true with him, now. He can’t even imagine them.

All in all, Billy’s feeling pretty damn proud of himself. He’s not walking to the supermarket yet, or anything, but going into the woods with Kate and his brothers is enough to take the edge off of the claustrophobia his house tends to give him. There’s been no sign of Greg or his goons, which Billy knows doesn’t really mean anything, but is still encouraging. His dreams are manageable, enough so that he decides against mentioning them to Kate. He’s… pretty content with his life, right now and where it’s headed. Maybe the past is better left there.

Except...

“Billy! Me and Danny are gonna play catch, wanna come?”

Billy puts the comic down. He had weird tastes, in the past, but these comics are actually getting pretty good. Still, catch. Outside. With his two brothers, which means his mom won’t fret, either. A bonus.

‘Catch’ is both fun and frustrating. His body doesn’t move as well as it should, so he misses the ball a lot. Once, it slips right through his fingers and beans him in the face, and he has a loud argument with Danny over whether he should be allowed to continue. Charlie sides with him, but that doesn’t stop Danny from making all of his tosses to Billy slower, easier.

Billy remembers how to throw a ball faster than he expected. He supposes it’s muscle memory, tucked somewhere behind the dead flesh. By the end, he’s catching more than he’s dropping, and his throws are actually reaching his brothers. He’s beaming, feeling triumphant, like he just won something. Which he sorta did. They’d mentioned that physical abilities would be spotty at best, but here he is. Throwing a ball. Talking with barely a stutter, at this point. He’s winning at being undead, or something. So wrapped up in his own success, he doesn’t notice the confused looks his brothers are shooting each other. It isn’t until he’s back in his room that night that he recalls a picture from one of the various photo albums. It’s of the twins, showing off some scribbled art pieces. He’s in the background, young still, hard at work on his own masterpiece. He was holding the pencil with his right hand.

Billy flexes his left hand, and says nothing.

Billy is doing great, really, except…

“What are we watching?” He asks, as he comes down the stairs.

“Sound of Music,” his mom calls up at him.

He stands in the doorway of the living room, watching a nun dance across some hills. “I remember this,” he says, the memory fitting into place so easily that he hardly notices what he’s saying. “I remember falling asleep to this movie.”

His mother twists in her chair to smile at him. “It’s your favorite movie. You watched it a lot. I’m not surprised you remember a bit of it.”

He goes to sit by his mother, but the memory isn’t one of falling asleep to the sound of a comfort movie. The memory is steeped in the distinct feeling of boredom. He shrugs it off, and watches the movie. It’s okay. Kinda.

Billy is doing wonderful, except when he’s not.

He’s halfway through changing one morning when Kate barges into his room. Her eyes are huge in her head, and by her laboured breathing she’s done more than just run over from her place.

“Hey, knocking! It’s a thing!” Billy spits out, trying to tug his shirt over his head as quickly as he can.

Kate goes to say something, but no sound comes out of her mouth. Billy expected her to look away immediately. She still doesn’t like seeing his face without makeup, after all, so he’d expect his torso to also fall under the better left unseen category. But instead she draws closer, and reaches out, her hand hovering over a faint bruise across his chest.

“What is that from?”

Billy blinks, and pulls his shirt down all the way. “It’s not new, if that’s what you’re worried about. I didn’t sneak out, Mom, don’t worry.”

Kate’s frowning. “I don’t understand, then. Did it happen during the Rising?”

Billy takes a step back, not sure how he feels about how in his space she is. He doesn’t like how he held his breath when he thought she was going to touch him.

“No, that’s from before the Rising. It’s from the seatbelt.”

“Seatbelt?”

“Yes, Kate, a seatbelt. Safety is very important. Well, not so much anymore, but at the time-”

He’s rambling. He’s rambling, picking up speed because he doesn’t like the look Kate is giving him, doesn’t like how she’s shaking her head. He doesn’t want to deal with this, everything was just starting to feel right, and the dangerous little truth in the back of his head, the elephant in the room, the thing he’s been ignoring since the dreams started, it’s about to come out and he doesn’t want it to, he doesn’t.

He’s just started to figure out how to be a good brother, son. He doesn’t want to have to face that he’s been doing it all wrong.

“Billy! Billy.” Kate’s hands are on his shoulders. “What are you talking about?”

Billy steps away again. His legs are backed up against the edge of his bed, but the room feels much too small, now. “Look, I might have been driving recklessly, or whatever, but I still wore my seatbelt. I remember that much, about the crash.”

“The crash?” Kate doesn’t move toward him again. “A car crash?”

“No, I run so fast I need a seatbelt for safety.” The sarcasm falls apart in his mouth. He looks everywhere but at Kate. “Of course the car crash. The car crash that killed me.”

“Billy.” Kate’s voice is very soft, and gentle. He still flinches at it. “Billy, you killed yourself. There was no car. You don’t even know how to drive.”

“No.” That was wrong. “No, I remember-”

“You took a bunch of pills and wandered into the woods. No one could find you.”

“No, I remember a crash-”

“There was no crash!” She’s upset, her voice shaking, and when Billy finally lets himself look at her again, he swears for a moment he sees tears in her eyes. Impossible. Must have been a trick of the light. “I helped look for you. I found you. I remember. There was no crash. Billy Kaplan died of an overdose, in the summer of 2009, and after the night of the Rising, his grave was empty.”

“No, Kate, wait-” He wants to cover his ears, except that would be childish.

She doesn’t listen. “And no one could find him, and then they finally got a hit, off your missing picture, and you looked just like him, and lots of the undead can’t remember, and you look just like him.” He realizes that Kate isn’t upset. She’s angry. Furious. “So. Who the fuck are you?”

The boy who is maybe not actually Billy Kaplan blinks. “I… I don’t know.” It’s not until he admits it to himself that it hits him, full force. All the hints falling into place to make a whole he can’t ignore. His chest aches, like something is squeezing all the air out of his lungs. And, because whoever he is, he’s bad at staying quiet, he goes on. “But please, don’t tell my family, Kate. I’ll help you figure out what happened, where… where Billy is. But don’t tell them they’re losing a son until we know we can replace him. Me. Whatever.”

Kate eyes him for a long moment. He doesn’t know what to do, and for the first time since their first meeting, he feels suspicion in that gaze.

“I didn’t know,” he says. His voice is so small. She has to believe him. “I didn’t know.”

For a long, tense moment, Kate stares him down. Then, all at once, she deflates. The fight leaves her, and she slides down to the floor with a weak laugh.

“This is so fucked up.”

This startles a laugh out of him. “Says the child soldier to the dead boy.”

She buries her face in her arms, and her laughing sounds a lot like crying, now. Her whole body shakes. He says nothing.

After a few long minutes, she gets herself together. “Fine. I won’t tell them, because you’re right. They don’t need to know that you’re maybe not their son. Not unless we actually have… proof. Ideally, the proof would be actually finding Billy.” She rubs her eyes once, and when she looks up to meet his gaze, they are totally dry. “You sure that accident you remember is before you were dead?”

He nods. “I dream about it. I can hear my heart beating, in the dream. The passenger side is empty, but I think I was with someone, before the crash. I don’t remember who, though.” He holds back the other part of the dreams, the operation table and the fire in his veins. “I don’t remember anything else.”

Seemingly over her outburst already, Kate is nodding. “Okay. Well, I guess all we can do is try to look into local crashes. Try to find something about someone that looks like you. Also,” she makes a face, hesitating for a moment before continuing on. “I’m just gonna call you Kaplan, from here on. It makes more sense, in my head, somehow.”

This is Kate the HVF soldier, he realizes. This is her with her emotions in check, holding her breath as she waits to release an arrow. This isn’t the friend he’s gotten to know over the last month, that’s for sure. The world has tilted, and everything feels off-balance, just a little wrong. But Kaplan can adjust to this. He always does. “Kaplan. Got it.”

“And no… no more asking about my past, or yours. I mean, Billy’s. Fuck.” She stands up, her back ramrod straight. She doesn’t approach him, and Kaplan knows she’s already got one foot out the door. “Before, it was to help you remember. Now it’s just weird.”

“Okay.”

They stare at each other across the room, and Kaplan can’t let her just walk out of here, that wouldn’t be right. He can’t be sure she’d come back, and he doesn’t know what he’ll do if she doesn’t. Thankfully, whoever he was is full of quick thinking. Terrible thinking, but quick.

“Guess it makes sense.”

“Yeah?” she says, and her voice is far away, disengaging. He blunders on.

“Yeah. Here I was, worried I’d somehow killed the gay in me or something. Turns out I was never gay in the first place.”

It’s stupid and it doesn’t even really make sense as a sentence. But Kate’s definitely looking at him now. One eyebrow is raised in disbelief.

“That. That was the thing you were most worried about?”

“Well, yeah.” Now he feels the need to defend himself. “See, Billy was so confident in it and got beat up over it and killed himself over it and if he’d come back from the dead no longer gay, I feel like that sends a really negative message about sexuality.”

Now both of Kate’s eyebrows are raised.

“You are so full of bullshit, Kaplan”

But there’s familiarity in the insult. He shoots her a cocky grin. “Aw, Bishop. You’re gonna make me cry.”

She throws a pillow at him. The world shifts again. He’s not quite on even ground, but he can learn how to balance. He can make sure balance is something Kaplan is good at.

* * *

 

* * *

He dreams in bright blue.

Blue eyes and blue pills, blue lines drawn by a strong hand, coming together to form a face that must be his. He doesn’t recognize himself, not really. He looks so alive. So unfamiliar. Like the artist saw a different him than he ever managed too. And he remembers.

_“You draw me a lot.”_

_“You’re the only one who will sit still for me.”_

_“Maybe that’s ‘cause you don’t tell anyone you’re an artist.”_

_“Artist is a big word, B.”_

B. B for Blue. He remembers a thousand snapshots, all in blue. But no names, no places. Nothing that would help him find out where home is.

He tells as much to his roommate, who smiles like he knows something he doesn't. "That must be really frustrating. Although maybe it's not real at all? I mean, you remember a family, right? But no one's bothered to track you down yet. Maybe it’s all a fever dream, Blue. Maybe you ate some druggie’s brains and everything is just hallucinations."

"Hey!"

Blue didn’t mean to make friends with Loki, who is kind of an asshole. It just happened. They’d been roomies ever since the rabid haze finally faded for him, and they watched together as people around them recovered and got sent home, again and again and again. Blue wasn’t intentionally unfriendly, but he isn’t the most charming kid around, and when combined with his roommate’s usually inappropriate sense of humor, it made for a less than ideal friend making environment.

Which is probably for the best, Blue thinks, noting another empty chair at group. Everyone leaves eventually. Almost.

“I heard they’re setting up an undead orphanage, or whatever.” Loki says. Billy doesn’t know where he gets this info, but it’s usually right, so he takes it at face value, at this point. “For the sad youth like us that won’t leave.”

“I would leave if I could,” Blue mutters, and Loki knows that, too. Loki’s the one who won’t tell anyone who he was before. He’d rather play pretend in the white walls of their room than go back to whatever life he had before.

“That was then, Blue,” he says, sprawled across his bed. He’s probably one of the youngest here, can’t have been older than twelve when he died. “We’re undead. We’re immortal. The past isn’t a place for us.”

Thinking of the months spent waiting, Blue has to agree with him. He reads books, books he knows he’s read but can’t remember. He tries not to think about the blonde boy, staring at him, drawing him with strong, careful hands. Now, two weeks from moving into a long-term care facility (‘dead baby orphanage,’ Loki whispers to him, and he tries not to laugh as their group leader frowns at them), he’s accepted that Blue is who he will always be.

And then he wakes up, eyes wide in the dark. In the shadows of his room, his dreams replay. Not the usual scenes of violence, the murders he committed. Instead, he sees a prince, against a backdrop of space. He reaches for his notebook, supposed to be for recording his progress, but that will have to wait. Tonight, he writes down his dream, which is less of a dream and more of a bedtime story, and he remembers writing it down before. He remembers it all.

“Dorrek,” he whispers. It isn’t much, but it’s more than he had. And Blue didn’t write this story. Someone else did. For the first time in months, he wants to know the ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so much is revealed. For those that guessed it, good job~


	6. Chapter 6

"Dorrek is a stupid name."

"Shut up, Loki."

"I mean, does it even count as a name?"

"Your name is Loki. You're not exactly the resident name expert."

"Thank you, Blue. I value your opinion."

There's a sigh from further down their shared bench, and they turn as one to look at Gert, who's frowning at them.

"This," she says in a voice more befitting some stern librarian than a fifteen year old dead girl. "Is stupid."

"The name?"

"No, she means you, Loki."

Loki sticks his tongue out at Blue, and Gert shakes her head.

"No, this whole thing. You've been arguing about it constantly. At least before, you had variety to your bickering."

"Variety to your bickering." Loki does an eerily good imitation of the girl's tone. "You're just grumpy because you're stuck with us forever."

"Not forever." Where before she was just being Gert, now she is truly annoyed. Blue sees the fear in how she holds herself, shoulders tight and eyes narrow, and kicks at Loki.

"Stop it."

"What, you think they'll actually let you go live with your weirdo boyfriend?" Loki hops off the bench and out of the range of Blue's warning kicks. He's grinning. "You've got it worst of all, I think, 'cause Blue at least can't remember what he's missing."

"I'm leaving." Gert stands up, and Loki moves in front of her, strangely fast for a PDS sufferer. The doctors say it must be because he's so young. He's not much shorter than Gert, and Blue watches as Loki gets right in her face.

"Come on, Gertrude, stop running away. We should get used to each other, after all. We're practically siblings at this point."

"Get out of my way."

"Loki." Sometimes Blue has more luck getting Loki to listen. But Loki appears to be gunning for confrontation today. He doesn’t even look Blue’s way. The expression in his eyes is combative, almost cruel. Still, Blue tries.

“Come on, let her go.”

“No.” Loki’s still smiling but his voice has gone quiet. “You’re always so angry, but you never do anything. That pisses me off. You have a second chance at living and you’re not doing anything with it.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, kid.” Gert’s tone is off, strained, like she’s fighting as hard as she can to keep her distance and failing.

One of the orderlies has noticed them, and is starting to make their way over. Loki really can’t afford to be caught causing another disturbance.

“Guys!” He can feel his own emotions peaking, heading towards panic.

He’s ignored.

“Pretending to be an adult isn’t going to trick anyone into thinking you are one!”

Blue’s never seen either of these two look so involved, before. Never seen either of them really look their age, either.

They almost look alive.

“You act like a child so no one can tell you off!” That’s almost a shout. A few people around them flinch, Blue included. “You act like an idiot because it means no one’s going to ask you anything you don’t want to answer.”

Loki hesitates, just for a moment, and Gert relaxes, triumphant. But then Loki’s back in charge. He takes a step back, finally spotting the orderly who has almost reached them.

“Well, there you are,” he says, voice light light they’d been talking about the weather, or something equally innocent. “You do give a shit. For a moment there, I thought you were one of those sad cases that went and died on purpose.”

Loki might say more, Gert might respond. Blue doesn’t know, because as soon as Loki says that, he’s pulled full force into his most intense flashback yet.

The blues are almost white, in this hospital. There’s beeping coming from somewhere above him, which must mean he’s still alive. He can’t muster anything but disappointment.

“Did you see any of their faces?” The police officer wants to know. Behind her, her partner looks uncomfortable. Blue wants to open his mouth and tell him it was his son, but what’s the point?

“What’s the point?”

The memory blurs, pulls and refocuses. He’s standing in his bathroom, holding a bottle of pills. Not here, he decides. He doesn’t want one of his brothers to have to find him.

So he goes into the woods.

He almost follows the path right through to the graveyard, but when he gets there, there’s someone else standing vigil. He sees the boy’s face, and his brain struggles around the whole in his memories where all the words and names should be.

The boy looks at Blue, and Blue must look like shit, because his classmate’s face twists in concern.

He says a word, but Blue doesn’t catch it.

That’s my name.

He just said my name.

He doesn’t have time to replay the memory, to guess at what the boy might have said, because now his classmate is moving towards him, slow and cautious, like Blue is some sort of wounded animal.

“Hey, take it easy.”

Blue’s hand tightens around his pills, and the boy must see them. His eyes go wide.

“What are those?”

Blue turns and runs.

He knows he’s not fast enough to outrun this guy, if he decides to follow. Instead, he heads off the path, because he knows these woods better than most. He sprints through familiar trees, their branches seeming to pull him deeper. Come with us, they seem to say. Stay with us.

There’s a fallen tree, not far now. Ferns have overtaken it, and a nasty blackberry bush blocks off one side. Between the large roots torn from the soil and the hole they left, there’s room for a person or two to hide away from the world for a while.

He tumbles into the hideaway, blackberry thorns scraping at his arms, and sits there, trying to catch his breath and listen for any pursuit.

He doesn’t hear anything. Maybe the boy didn’t bother to follow. Maybe he left him on the path. Maybe he went to get help.

Blue can’t really muster the energy to care. He is safe. He opens the pill bottle with shaky fingers, spills the pills out onto his hand, and hopes it’s enough.

“Blue? Blue!”

He comes back to himself slowly. He’s still shaking, curled up around himself on his bench. Loki and Gert are both looking at him with obvious concern over the shoulders of his doctor.

“Blue? Are you alright?”

He nods, out of instinct rather than truth. Dr. Rao doesn’t buy it.

“Your shot was administered this morning. Was this a flashback?”

Nod.

“Dream about your prince again?” Loki pipes up. Gert elbows him.

“Your prince?” There’s suspicion in her eyes. About him having memories he hasn’t shared with her? Or is it the same kind of suspicion he got from his teachers, when he came out?

“No,” Blue whispers, and his voice feels raw. “My… death. I remembered my death.”

Dr. Rao purses her lips together, sensing she’s not getting the whole truth. Then she gives him a small smile, more than he’s really seen from her before. “That’s a very good sign. Would you like to follow me to my office and we can discuss that now? Or we can wait until tomorrow. I believe you’re scheduled to see me then, anyways. Your group is also an option.”

Blue shrugs. “I… tomorrow?”

She nods once, and pulls away. “Very well.” She turns, and shoots Loki a pointed look through her glasses. “Remember, you are on your last chance. If you cause problems again, it’s out of our hands, unfortunately. Please keep that in mind, Loki.” To Gert she says “Also, please make sure your friend gets back to his room safely.”

And she’s gone.

Loki seems unconcerned with Dr. Rao’s warning. “You remembered your death? About time, Blue.”

“Loki,” Gert doesn’t crowd him as much as Loki, but sits herself on Blue’s other side, solid and calm. “Shut up.”

They both let him breathe. It’s Gert who finally breaks the silence, surprising them all. “So. Was the death specific enough to help us find out who you were?”

“I’m not sure,” Blue mutters. He looks at his hands and can still feel the weight of the pills there. “How many teen suicides do you think there were, in 2009?”

* * *

Slowly but surely, Kaplan learns where to draw the lines.

He still does his best to be a good son. He tries not to focus so much on being a good Billy, and in doing so, he relaxes. He sees his mom smiling more (is he still allowed to call her that? Mrs. Kaplan feels too foreign, even in his own head), and he gets to know his brothers, and no one ever stops and points at him and yells ‘fake!’ or ‘liar!’.

He’s sure one day he’ll mess up, and they will turn on him, but he can give them their son until then.

Kate tries to figure out where the real Billy Kaplan might have ended up, but this search ends in frustration, her collapsing on his bed with a growl.

“At first, no one bothered even keeping records. It was such a mess. Who knows what happened in the early treatment factories. I bet most of the people who were caught early never came out.”

“Do you think Billy was one of them?”

She shrugs, and he knows he shouldn’t have asked that, but they can’t keep ignoring that might be a possibility. He might not be Billy Kaplan, but he might be the best alternative they’re going to find.

“Maybe? Fuck, I have no idea. And neither does anyone else, apparently.”

She must still be looking, but she no longer talks about it with him. He tries not to be bothered by it. If she finds something out, he’s sure he’ll be the first to know.

He does do a bit of his own searching, skimming the forums of PDS sufferer communities that have sprung up. He doesn’t post much, mostly lurking. But of course the unidentified are still mostly in treatment centres, where access to the internet isn’t exactly something they have. So he comes up empty handed as well. He doesn’t tell Kate about his own searches. Again, if he finds anything, he’ll let her know. No point in reporting nothing of note.

With Kate, she tries to pretend it's like starting over with him, but she doesn't quite manage it. Kaplan watches her, sees how when she catches herself relaxing, she scowls, and how she always looks at his face when they talk, if she looks at him at all. But he doesn't lose her. Maybe she thinks about leaving him on his own, but Kaplan gets the feeling that as much as she is his key to the world around him, he is her focus, a project at the very least. Something to keep her distracted.

The HVF has largely ignored her, since their skirmish on his doorstep. She tells him that they don't even look at her, if they happen to cross paths in town.

"Eli's ashamed, I think." She likes to ponder out loud about people Kaplan doesn't know. He doesn't mind, because since they realized who he wasn't, he is no longer allowed to ask her questions about the people Billy knew. "The rest of them? They're plotting, probably."

If she's concerned, she doesn't let him see it. And she can't be that worried, because she finally agrees they can try going out again.

"With me, this time. And with your face on."

It's little walks around the neighbourhood, first. Just around his block, or through the woods a little while, Kate with her bow strung and her quiver looking as casual as a purse. No one bothers them, and Kaplan wears sweatshirts with hoodies so his face is hidden. After a week of daily walks short enough to drive Kaplan half-crazy, Kate doesn't make the turn back towards the house at her usual place. Instead she continues on, passing the place where the boys learned to shoot, following a little path that winds through the forest.

"Where are we going?" Not that he really cares, he'd be happy to see a gas station bathroom, he's that itchy for new scenery. But he's curious nonetheless.

Kate shrugs. "The old graveyard. It's morbid, I know, but hardly anyone goes there since the Rising, so it seemed like a good idea."

It's not far. The graveyard has the look of something once carefully maintained that has now gone to seed, and the grass that grows there, the sparse flowers, don't quite know what to do with this freedom. There are dandelions everywhere, clinging onto their halos as a gentle wind blows. Kate wanders off, muttering something about paying her respects, and Kaplan is left to make his own path through the long grass. He reads the stones as he passes, and he must be in the older corner of the graveyard, because all of these people died before he was born.

Then he comes across the first open grave. The dirt is still left disturbed, and he can't help himself. He peeks into the hole, the aging lining of the coffin just visible through the dirt that filled it when it's occupant went for a walk.

The grave belonged to a Beloved Sister, Mother, Friend, apparently. He wonders where this Wanda is now. Is she still rabid, somewhere in these woods? More likely, she's back in the ground, or she's like him, getting shots every day to keep her sane. He moves on.

Where before he was just casually curious, now he's on a mission. He spares a glance for every upturned grave, all of the Maxes and Nicos and Brians blending together as he looked for one in particular.

"It's over here."

Kaplan jumps, and turns to see Kate standing by another upturned grave, still a few rows away from him. He doesn't ask her how she knows what he's looking for. It's pretty obvious.

When he looks down at Billy's grave, he expects to feel... Something. He's not sure what. He's never stood here before, never spent time under this headstone. Standing here, he feels more like an impostor than he ever has before.

He can't do this.

He moves forward, crouches down to look at the hole Billy Kaplan left. It's cleaner than most. Before he can think about it too hard, he sticks his legs into the hole.

"What are you doing? Kaplan!"

He wiggles a bit, lowers himself down, and after a bit of struggling and pushing dirt to the side, he's done it. He's lying down in Billy Kaplan's coffin, looking up at the sky through the hole the boy had dug.

He never had a coffin, or a grave. He knows that now. He feels claustrophobic, or maybe like he's dying again. He closes his eyes, tries to imagine what thoughts would go through someone's head, waking up to this, only it would have been dark.

He opens his eyes again, and Kate's face is peering down at him through the hole. She looks very unimpressed.

"You about done?"

He nods. "Yeah, I'll be out in a minute."

She hisses something through her teeth, too quiet for him to catch, and storms off. He decides he's done with this. It seemed like a good idea, but it's too tight in here. He shifts to pull himself out, and the dirt above him gives.

He's being buried.

Panic sets in, and he closes his eyes as the dirt hits him, then settles. When he opens his eyes, he's no longer in the ground.

He's in a car, tipped over, windshield broken. It's dark, and his hands are clumsy, as they push off whatever it is tethering him to the seat. He climbs through the open door, and he's free. Free and so, so hungry.

He starts to walk. He has no notion of where, and he doesn't care. Thoughts like that are on a completely different level of consciousness, something he doesn't even comprehend right now. All he knows is narrowed to a point. Keep moving. Feed this hunger, this hollowness.

He walks until the world grows light again. He walks until he hears something living.

Yes. This is what he's been looking for. This is everything.

He is not walking. He is hunting.

He blinks, and comes back to himself in pieces. The panic is dull, now. It's easy enough to dig himself out, after that. He wanted to be reborn and now here he is, fresh emerged from a grave not his own.

Kate must have come back over when the ground shifted, and when he climbs up, she quickly hides her concern under unimpressed brows.

"That's a rather heavy handed metaphor."

"Shut up," Kaplan says. The bite in his voice is ruined by the dirt in his teeth. "I didn't do it on purpose."

Even with the cave in, it's a successful outing. Kate even smiles her goodbye, once she's walked him back to his front door.

It's astonishing how far he can wander with Kate, as long as people read him as just another delinquent teen. He jokingly suggested to Kate that they should get him a HVF armband, to complete the look. That earned him a punch in the shoulder.

Really, he should be impressed that it takes a whole week for them to run into trouble.

They're on their now-daily walk. It's close to twilight, the streetlights are on but they're not quite needed yet. They take a turn into something like suburbia, but Kate promises him a playground so he's not complaining. She could lead him anywhere and he wouldn't hesitate, although he tucks that fact away with the rest of the evidence slowly piling up against him and this silly crush.

There are people on their side of the street, three of them walking their way. Kaplan can't really make them out yet, but he figures they'll just cross the road, like they usually do when they come across others. Instead, as the trio walks under a street lamp, Kate grabs his arm and yanks him off the sidewalk and into a hedge. He winces instinctively at the tug and the sticks that are now jabbing into his everything.

"Ow, Kate! If I were alive, that would have hurt!"

Kate’s not amused. In fact, she’s not even paying him any mind, her eyes fixed on the figures.

"Can you be quiet for thirty seconds, Kaplan? This is serious." And she sounds serious too. She’s pale, mouth a thin line. Kaplan hopes no one peeks out of a window to see two delinquents on their lawn.  "Shit. Eli didn't say anything, the bastard. Fuck."

"From what I hear, Eli is always a bastard." That earns him an elbow in the ribs. The fake wince is for Kate's benefit, this time. He tries not to wonder when she's been talking to Eli.

"Shut. Up." Kate's not even looking at him. "I didn't even think of this. Stupid. That was stupid, Bishop." He doesn't like her tone, and it's making him tense.

"Can you at least tell me why we're hiding in a bush? You're acting really weird."

Finally, she turns to look at him. She's gnawing on her lip, and a crazy thought has his hand half raised, wanting to reach out and smooth the stress lines from her forehead. He catches himself before he actually does it, uses the raised hand to pull a twig from her hair instead.

"There's a very handsome blonde boy walking our way," she begins, looking at him like this is supposed to mean something, and he's already opening his mouth to make a joke, but she's faster, her hand over his mouth like she knew he was about to say something stupid. If he could have blushed he'd be doing it. He settles for a glare. "No, listen. Listen, Kaplan. This boy's from the army."

She says it like it should mean something to him, but it doesn’t.

"The army? And then he went and got himself killed. And now I guess he’s back, because he’s walking this way." She sits back on her heels, dropping her hand. She looks upset, and there’s a distance in her eyes that makes him think she’s not really seeing him, right now. "Jesus Christ… Billy killed himself over this guy."

Oh.

He doesn't know what to say. Doesn’t know if his voice would work, even if he thought of words that might help. He has never met Billy, but he’s sitting here in Billy’s shoes, Billy’s life, and he feels like he knows the boy. Not like a friend, but something stranger, deeper. He doesn’t have the words for what he’s feeling, but what he does know is that he's here. And the real Billy Kaplan is probably dead, forever dead, over some asshole who's been given another chance.

He thinks the roaring in his ears might be anger.

"I'm going to kick his ass."

His voice must be working again, because he definitely said that aloud. Kate's looking at him with what might be horror, but he can hardly see her through the red clouding his vision. He feels like he's burning, and when he moves there's no moment's delay between him giving the command and his body obeying. He hasn't felt this alive since he woke up.

"What was his name again? I'm gonna smash his face in."

"Wait, Kaplan you just can't- Billy!"

She shouts too late to stop him, no point in trying to be sneaky now because Kaplan is tumbling out of the bushes and back onto the sidewalk. He knows he must look a mess right now, like... like a rotter, even. He doesn't care.

"Hey, you!"

His timing is almost too perfect, the boys stopping only a foot away from him. He stares at them in spite of himself, recognizes Greg and Kessler before zeroing in on the blonde stranger. He's tall, broad, holds himself like an adult compared to Kaplan's gangly teenage build. He can see how someone might have fallen for this guy, maybe even Billy, a lifetime ago. He's his opposite, and they have been known to attract. The fact that he can easily imagine how Billy could have fallen for this guy makes him even angrier.

"...Billy?"

The voice is disbelieving, and so warm, so happy. That's even worse. This soldier is all broken now, huge scars cutting through carefully applied makeup. His fake blue eyes are staring at Kaplan in wonder. It's sick.

Kaplan takes a step towards him, killing the space between the two of them. He brings up both hands and shoves him in his chest, hard as he can. He makes him stumble backwards, but he doesn't fall, and there's a handprint on his shirt where Kaplan's makeup marked him. He looks hurt, and Kaplan grins, because good, he deserves it. He's got his fists in the soldier's collar before anyone else moves, but then Kate's got her own grip on his sweater, yanking him backwards. He digs in his heels and something that sounds like a growl rips out from between his clenched teeth. He knows he could throw her off if he wanted. His fingers itch to reach up and smear at this asshole's brave face, maybe yank out a stitch or two.

There's a click, and something presses against the side of his head. Behind him, Kate inhales sharply. Kaplan slowly lets his hands fall to his sides. The soldier takes a step back, and Greg smiles at Kaplan, the gun he's holding against his head looking at home in his hand.

Kaplan freezes.

"Greg, don't." That's Kate behind him, attempting strength but the fear is still leaking through.

The soldier is still staring at Kaplan, like he's some dream creature, instead of some lost thought wearing a dead boy's face.

"Greg?" Even his voice is far away. "What are you doing?"

Under everyone's stares, Greg seems to grow. His smile is casual, utterly at home with the fact he's pressing the muzzle of his gun into Kaplan's head hard enough that even if Kaplan somehow gets out of this he's half-sure the mark will be cut into his skin.

"You all saw it. This rotter attacked Altman. He's a danger to the public."

He doesn't think that will be a problem. He can't see this ending in any way other than Greg's itchy finger pulling the trigger.

"I don't know how much action you saw during the Rising, Greg." Kate's voice is stronger now, fear masked by anger and a superiority artfully designed to hit Greg hard. "But I saw a lot. And I never saw a rabid push someone like that. That's usually a move more favoured by hotheaded boys."

Greg turns his gaze onto her, the gun and his smile unmoving. "Thought you were one of the good guys, Bishop."

"I'm trying to be." That's like a punch to the gut. Kaplan wants to comfort her somehow, but they're in this spot because of him, and he doesn't dare take his eyes off Greg.

"Greg," Teddy's voice is strained. "Please. Don't be stupid. Billy was just... it's fine. I deserved it."

A breath. Finally, Greg lowers his gun. The tension dissipates, leaving the air feeling a touch too thin. Kate yanks on his arm, and he follows her back on shaky legs. Teddy can't seem take his eyes off of Billy's face, and he hates it, hates this guy for staring at him like he's a miracle when he knows he's anything but. He feels sick, like he accidentally ate something his body can no longer handle.

"He claws himself out of the ground, eats people for a few months, and he's still a pussy."

That's Kessler, who had been silent until now. Kate scowls, he hisses, but neither of them take the bait. It's Teddy who moves, rounding on his friend.

"John."

They're roughly the same size, but Kessler's muscles come from picking on queer boys and dead bodies. Teddy's are the carefully sculpted work of the army, and he holds himself like a weapon.

Kessler immediately backs down. Kaplan chances a look at Greg as he does. He's got a strange look on his face, a detached disappointment, something more suited for a bad dog than a friend. After a long moment, he sighs.

"Come on, Kessler. Teddy will catch up. Right, Teddy?"

And Teddy nods like he's listening, even though Kaplan would bet he isn't. The two boys leave, Kessler making sure to knock Kaplan's shoulder hard as he passes.

Teddy. Kaplan makes note of the soldier's name, because it's something he should know. Like he can forget it, now.

Teddy takes a step forward, looking like he's about to open his mouth, and Kaplan panics.

"I don't remember anything." He means to stop there, but he's no good at stopping once he's started, and a memory, so quick he can't be sure it's real. His voice, talking nonsense at a ridiculous speed, simply to keep talking, and a voice speaking over him "You'd think he'd have given up on that by now-"

The memory is gone but he's still rambling. "I don't remember you or what you meant to me or what dance we were doing, I don't remember you leaving but I know you did, and I don't know why, if we were close or some shit, you'd let your friend hold a gun to my head," God he doesn't even have to breathe anymore he literally never has to stop "But that's pretty fucked, huh, and I have no idea why I killed myself-" his voice breaks, Teddy flinches "-over a guy who won't even talk his friend down until the last fucking second. If you're that slow on saving people it's no surprise you got yourself blown up overseas-"

"Jesus, Kaplan," Kate whispers.

"-but yeah, the point is I don't remember shit but I know what's on paper and on paper you look like a real charmer, so don't expect any tears from me over you being back."

"Billy," Kate's voice and that name break through his anger, throw him off enough that he loses his train of thought. "Slow down."

Teddy looks horrified at first, but then he forces his face into something more neutral. Kaplan burns with jealousy, that this boy can so easily hide his emotions away. He looks hysterical in comparison.

"I... I'm sorry you don't remember anything." Teddy's voice is soft and unsure, when he finally speaks. "And we didn't exactly... End in a good note, anyway. I didn't expect to come back here and still get to call you a friend, even before I found out you..." He trails off, like if he says it out loud he risks it becoming true again. "I'm just happy to see you. I'm glad you're okay. Or some weird, horror movie version of okay, I guess."

This surprises a laugh out of Kaplan in spite of himself. "Right. That kind of okay. Sure."

Teddy sticks his hand out with a shy grin. "So, I'm Teddy Altman. I've been... A bit of a shit, in the past. But I'm trying out a new life, so hopefully I can change that."

Why not. Kaplan closes the distance and shakes his hand. "Billy Kaplan, kinda. She's been calling me Kaplan. Just until I figure out who Billy is." Where he is. Same thing.

"Cool," Teddy breathes.

"Cool," Kaplan echoes.

"I'm Kate Bishop, his keeper." She says it with a grin that almost looks natural. "We had a few classes together."

"I remember." Teddy's eyes flick from Kate to Billy to where Kate's wrapped her arm around his. "Nice to see you again?"

"Likewise." Now her smile is too much teeth. She looks like a shark, and Kaplan's not sure why she looks ready to devour Teddy. "Now I think we've had enough excitement for one night, so I'm going to get this bad boy home."

Kaplan gives Teddy a weak wave as he lets himself be dragged off by a fast-walking Kate. He at least waits until they're probably out of Teddy's earshot before whining.

"What's the hurry, Bishop? I think we used up all our bad luck for the day..."

"Oh no," she turns on him, her eyes blazing. "That was not bad luck. That was you being a fucking idiot. What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't," he replies, much too quickly. It's the truth, but it is so not what Kate wants to hear. She makes a frustrated noise.

"Of course not. It's fine. I enjoy getting to play the dashing hero, I do, but it gets exhausting when I have to do it all the time. So do us both a favour and use that undead brain of yours at least every once in a while, okay?"

He puts his hands up in half comfort, half surrender. "Sorry! Next time I do something stupid, I'll have you sign off on it first. Got it."

She doesn't quite drag him all the way home, but it's a near thing.

Her bad mood seems to lift just as she walks him to his door. He doesn't know what trouble he could get himself into in the empty lawn between his door and her own, but Kate is apparently unwilling to find out.

"I want to go into the woods tomorrow."

It makes no difference to Kaplan where they go. "Sure, whatever you want, princess."

The nickname gets him exactly the reaction he was hoping for, that angry pout that means she's mad at him in that passing way that almost feels playful.

"You're terrible."

He bares his teeth. "Maybe I'm the monster." The beast, the dragon. Although Kate is much more his keeper than he is her's.

"You're something, that's for sure." They're at his door. His hand is on the knob, but he waits to open it, because Kate is biting at her lip. Thinking.

"I didn't know he cared," she says, right as he's about to lose patience and ask her what's wrong. "I mean, I didn't think he was some villain, or anything. But I had no idea he actually cared about Billy."

"Who?" Kaplan asks. He's gone and missed what she said, got distracted somewhere between her eyes and her lips and the way her forehead furrows when she's pondering something.

Kate rolls her eyes, so she doesn't see him staring. "The knight, of course."

Oh. Suppose that means they better find that missing prince.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We check in with the main players as things start to collide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything is gonna get very real in the next chapter, and this chapter is just lining everything up for that.  
> Thanks for reading, everyone!

 It's visiting day, which isn't the worse day. The worst days are the ones where they're in their rooms or sitting in one of the communal rooms and the alarm goes off, and Blue looks at Loki and Gert with his own tension reflected back at him. Sometimes, there's no change afterwards, but sometimes there's an empty chair at group and a name no one wants to say. But visiting days are another reminder that for them, there's no one coming a calling. There is no one asking to see them, no exit plan.

Except this time one of the orderlies comes into the small library, looking for one of them.

"Gertrude Yorkes?" she calls, and Gert closes her book with wide eager eyes.

"About time," she mutters, but her shy smile undercuts her dry tone. She stands up and actually lifts her hands to smooth her hair.

Blue and Loki share a curious look. Gert's hair had been purple when she died, but now it's faded, a grey-brown she complains about often. Gert puts on the mousse and contacts, but neither of them had ever seen her spare a moment to her appearance past that. Watching her tug at her ill fitting hand me down clothes with that grin on her face feels very strange.

"...Can they come?"

The orderly blinks in surprise. "I- no. The visitor is here to see you."

She nods, and turns to give them a parting look as she's led out. "Maybe next time, boys."

She disappears out the door, and Blue has to take a moment to bite back the jealousy that rears up in his throat. He's happy for Gert, really. She's been trying to get her boyfriend approved to visit for ages, ever since they found out that since Gert died a minor, her older boyfriend couldn't act as her sponsor for her to get out of here. Blue doesn't know why her parents are out of the picture, but he hasn't asked. It's not fair to ask personal questions when he has nothing of his own to offer.

Loki deals with his own jealousy in a much pettier fashion, picking up the book Gert had left behind.

"I'm going to spoil the ending for her," he says with a wink at Blue. Blue just rolls his eyes.

* * *

 Gert doesn't feel nervous until she's right in front of the door to the visiting room. Her steps slow, and she realizes she was almost running, as best as she is able to know, at least. She slows herself down, takes a deep (pointless) breath, and looks down to make sure her too tight shirt and too large blazer over it haven't decided to suddenly sprout any stains. She has nightmares like that, looking down to see a knife buried in her stomach again, blood coming faster than either of them can stop it.

Her face feels naked without her glasses. She thought it had stopped bothering her, but apparently not. _Enough stalling,_ she chides herself, and pushes open the door.

The blonde head of hair at the closest table hears her enter. He looks up, and even blurry and under these bright lights, she knows he's grinning ear to ear.

She steps closer, and his features come into focus. _He looks okay,_ she thinks, and she admits to herself that she's surprised. _Skinnier, and older, but okay._

She doesn't get much time to take him in, because he's up, running at her, and then she's safe in his arms, lifted and spun around like they're in some cheesy romcom.

She's no romantic, but she holds onto him as tight as she can, buries her face in his chest even though she's probably getting mousse all over him, and takes this moment just for them.

Finally (not long enough), he releases her. She bites back a protest, embarrassed at how needy she feels. When she looks up at him (way up, has he gotten even taller?) she sees he's crying.

"No need for that," she says, aiming for no nonsense and just sounding terribly found. She tries to wipe away his tears, but only succeeds in wiping the makeup on her hands all over his face. Laughing, he kisses her palms.

"It just doesn't seem real," he mutters. She remembers that for him, it's probably been a long five years. Mourning her, and then dealing with the rising dead, trying to not get too hopeful when the rumours of the cure started to spread. He's older, now, he's lived all these years that she is missed, and she feels a hot anger that she thought she had lost, anger at the stupid thing that had gotten her killed, anger at the walls around them for keeping this reunion from them. He's twenty two now, a man. She is painfully aware of her young body, how she's stuck fifteen forever. It's too much all at once. She puts that all out of her mind, and focuses on the here and now, and the beautiful boy in front of her.

"I am almost positive I am real."

This earns her a quick kiss. If Chase notices how cold her dead lips are, he doesn't say a thing.

"You always did know best."

And then they sit, across from each other like they're supposed to, only Chase grabs her hands over the table and won't let go. If she stares at their tangled hands, she swears she can almost feel him.

"How's Old Lace?" is of course the first question she asks.

Chase beams at her. "She's fine! Don't worry. I'd have brought her, but they said no pets."

A weight in her chest lifts. "And the others? And you, how are you? Where are you living? What's changed out there? We hardly get any news, in here. It's almost like they want us to be completely culturally crippled when we get out."

"Wow. For once, I have all the answers." He closes his eyes, fakes a contented sigh. "Just a moment. I want to savour this."

She kicks him under the table. He swears, but he's laughing again. "Alright, I'll tell you! Jeeze. I thought the meds were supposed to make you _less_ violent."

And with just that joke, Gert knows. Knows he doesn't give a shit that she's a dead girl walking, that she has to take a shot every day or go back to being a mindless monster. He doesn't care.

Lucky. She's one of the lucky ones.

It's crazy how little has changed between them. There are differences in him, in his strong shoulders and at the corner of his mouth. But Gert and Chase have known each other their whole lives. It would take more than death and crawling out of the grave for them to forget each other.

"Tell me everything," she tells him, and she knows he's squeezing her hands tight, even though she can't feel it.

"Everything, babe. I promise."

* * *

As promised, the next day when Kate comes to pick him up, they head straight into the woods. Kate shoots at a target that she must have rigged up earlier, while Kaplan reads through Billy's notebooks. Now he has a face to add to the name, and Teddy - his shadow, really, the idea of him - is all over these notebooks.

"I don't get it," he admits to Kate.

"Get what?" The twang of release, and the sound of another arrow hitting the ring meets their ears. Kaplan takes a moment to marvel at how she can converse with him and and shoot at the same time.

"This!" He motions at his current notebook.

"For the record, I still think it's creepy that you kept reading them, even though we know you're not him."

Kaplan shrugs. "You're not stopping me." He takes her silence as giving in. "And I thought they'd help me understand him."

He means understanding Teddy, but Kate misinterprets him.

"Will that help us find him?"

He doesn't correct her. "At this point, we're out of options otherwise."

This makes Kate lower her bow. "Well, there's always telling them the truth."

Panic grips Kaplan's chest tight. "They'd send me back. The Kaplans will be down a son again, and they'd hate me, and-" he can't go back to the treatment centre, they'll probably blame him for the mixup, and people who go back to the centre don't often get to leave again "-they'll decide I'm not worth the effort and just get rid of me, or put me back on the table again and I can't-"

His head is spinning like he's starved for air, and Kate is on her knees in the dirt in front of him, hands firm on his shoulders.

"Slow down, Kaplan," she says, which strikes him as hilarious, because _god_ he's only been hearing _that_ his whole life. His laughter skips humour and goes right into hysterical, and this just sucks. He's in the woods with this beautiful, amazing girl, who he keeps accidentally falling more and more in love with, and what does he do? He doesn't even need to breathe, and he's having a fucking asthma attack or something. Pathetic. Embarrassing.

"Kaplan." Kate's eyes are soft, but her voice is commanding, and it cuts through his panic. "Kaplan, you have to calm down."

Slowly, bit by bit, he does.

"Welcome back," she says with a grin. Whispers, really. They've leaned together in the heat of the moment, and there are scant inches between his face and hers. He looks into her eyes, sees the concern there, and he can't help it. He'll blame it on lack of oxygen. Years of it, in fact.

He leans forward, and presses his lips against hers.

* * *

Teddy feels like the world is sliding out of focus, like he's walking in a dream that keeps changing the rules. He sits and watches his mother and Kurt talk over dinner, wishing he had a plate himself if only so he had something to do with his hands. His hands are too stiff for watercolour, so he drags pencils across paper, no longer able to capture soft lines, scratchy forms taking shape slower than he has patience for. But he has nothing else to do, so he puts in the hours, filling up half-empty sketchbooks with drawings that look like they were done by someone who has never even met the boy who started them.

He thinks about Billy more than he wants to admit, although he never lets himself draw him. He draws coming home, the angry boy in the back of the crowd, Greg holding a gun to an anonymous forehead. Greg looked more comfortable with that gun than Teddy ever felt with one, like he felt good with it in his hand. Teddy doesn't know what to think about this, so he draws it instead.

He draws the girl Billy was with. Kate Bishop. Her strong arms and her dark eyes. She holds herself like a soldier, which he would assume was the HVF, except Greg and John are missing that. They look like... bullies, he admits to himself. Like they always were. Kate looks like the guys he fought next to.

He wonders how many of them made it home. He wonders if any of them would want to hear from him, or if they're happier thinking he's actually dead.

His mom and him fall in to a routine, him coming downstairs right before she has to leave for work, her doing his shot like it's normal, giving him a kiss on the cheek to top it off. The flashbacks are less and less common, and when they happen she holds him and doesn't ask questions and he loves her so much.

He avoids Kurt as much as possible, and he can't even explain why. There's something about the man that makes him tense. Maybe it's the way the man holds himself, or the way he only ever looks at the half of Teddy's face that isn't held together by staples. He always seems to be around the house, and they don't talk, but he always seems to make note of when Teddy leaves for his walks.

Teddy doesn't trust him, but he makes his mother smile, and that's more than he's managed, these past years. So he doesn't say anything.

Teddy feels like he's in a play with no script, but maybe that's okay. Maybe he's not supposed to have any lines. He reads the endings to book series he missed, and catches himself reaching for his computer to share them with Billy only to remember that Billy doesn't know any of these books anymore, and doesn't remember staying up late dissecting them with Teddy, once upon a time.

That's fine. It's fine, Teddy's fine. This is all extra time, he reminds himself. Time he's not supposed to have. So he tries to savour every word, every conversation with his mother, every sunrise, even though the warmth doesn't reach his skin anymore.

"Yeah," he tells his community outreach rep. "Yeah, I'm doing just fine."

* * *

Loki knows they're getting moved soon. He overhears the orderlies talking about it, knows that's why they finally let Gert see her boyfriend. He's excited, not just about the change of scenery, but because he knows that things tend to go missing, when moving house. And if he plays his cards right, maybe he can be something that goes missing. He's good at that, at disappearing. The only difference is that this time it's going to be on his terms. Just him and the big wide world.

And Blue, if he can convince the boy to come. He knows Blue's still holding out hope that one day he'll wake up and remember everything, and it's true they've had breakthroughs. But there's no way he's going to be able to do the research he wants to do from in here. Blue had asked their group leader if he could get a look at any suicides that happened the year he died and was kindly shut down. Just confirming Loki's suspicion that they don't really care about getting people out of here unless they can send them off with someone they know can control them. If Blue's family hasn't found him yet, then they're not trustworthy enough to take him in ever. Loki just needs to make the boy see that. If they can get out of here, they can track down Blue's shit family themselves, and then Blue can have closure and Loki can say 'I told you so', probably.

And after seeing the boyfriend today, Gert will probably want to jump in on the plan too, and Loki will let her, because he is a kind kid and because Chase apparently has a creepy white van that sounds ideal for transporting three zombie kids on the lam.

So Loki plots and plans and drops hints about not trusting the people in the white coats, and watches as Blue gets worse and worse at pretending to ignore him. He feels a bit bad for manipulating the only friend he's got, but it's for his own good, really.

Loki knows best.

* * *

Kate knows what's happening, and she hates it.

What started as some weird guilt-fuelled mission has turned into something she doesn't want to name, something she's doing her best to ignore, even as she spends more and more time at the Kaplan's house, with the boy who isn't Billy, which means she doesn't even owe him anything. But now that she's not trying to see the boy she kind of knew when she looks at him, she's started getting to know the boy in front of her.

And she doesn't know what to think.

She remembers the gun pressed against his head, how scared she was, and how angry. She's already gone above and beyond some stupid guilt, in protecting this boy, and she... doesn't regret it, either.

She likes spending time with him.

She likes his dumb sense of humour, and now that's she's looking for it she can see the differences between him and Billy. In how he carries himself, in his smile.

She is _not_ falling for some dead boy who doesn't even have a name. No way. This is not happening.

Kate Bishop is a soldier and a fighter and she's learning how to be a good friend. She is not an idiot, and liking Kaplan would be an idiot move.

So she doesn't. Like him, that is.

She takes him out to the woods because she wants to shoot until she can't feel her arms anymore. That always makes the world make more sense, and she takes Kaplan with her because she doesn't trust him alone in the house all day. He'll do something stupid, she's sure. But she does do her best to ignore him once they reach her makeshift shooting range, even though he's not the kind of person one ignores easily.

She's beginning to think finding Billy is a lost cause, or at least not something they can do from here. And leaving isn't really an option. Not for Kaplan, at least, who is tied here by rules and his family and the drug refills he needs.

She's trying to think of a way to say 'I might go to the treatment centres myself, see if I can figure anything out, please don't do anything stupid while I'm gone,' but then he's having a panic attack and when she talks him down, there's something in his eyes that wasn't there before, or maybe she was just pretending not to see it.

He kisses her.

Oh no.

She lets herself kiss him back for a few seconds, before reality catches up to her. She pushes herself away, one hand coming up to wipe away the coverup that's smearing on her lips. He's staring up at her, fear and fondness all over his face, and she can't look away from his grey lips.

"I'm going away for a few days," she says finally. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

She leaves him there, because she's too scared of what she'll do if she doesn't. She grabs her bow and the arrows from the target and stalks off.

She doesn't look back, but she didn't survive her years in the HVF without honing some instincts. And she can feel his eyes on her back long after she's turned a corner in the path and gone out of sight.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone ends up running away from their problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for gore and minor character death in this chapter. The character death is part of why this took so long... It was very hard for me to write, but it has been part of the plot since the beginning.
> 
> To those still reading this, thanks for sticking around.

 Loki has spent the last few days attached to Blue by the hip, and it's kind of driving him up the wall.

There's already not much room to breathe, here. But now even him reading in the library is done to a constant stream of Loki chatter. Him and Gert shoot a few raised eyebrows at each other, which means she's noticed it too.

"He's like a duckling," Blue says, in a rare moment of respite, because Loki's having his weekly one-on-one appointment with the doctor. "He's gone and imprinted on me."

"That's milder language than I'd use," Gert says. She's writing a letter to Chase, one Blue is not allowed to read. There's no way they're letting her send something naughty to her boyfriend, so Blue's not sure why he's not allowed to read it, but Gert gave him a good stare down when he reached for the paper, so he hadn't bothered asking for details.

"Think it has anything to do with the move?"

They all know it's coming now, officially. Sometime in the next few days, the long term patients are getting shifted to a different facility. If Blue were a hopeful person, he'd have maybe entertained the thought of going to a place where they were allowed to go outside, or have more than a scattering of personal affects, or pick out their own clothes, even. But Blue is not a hopeful person, and in their situation he thinks it's fair to say that the glass ain't anywhere near half full anyhow, so he's more inclined to listen to Loki and Gert swap conspiracy theories, talking about what the government might do with bodies they don't have to account for, permanent missing people.

"But you have Chase," Blue reminds her.

She scoffs. "You think my weirdly-older boyfriend who lives out of his van is going to stop them from making me disappear?"

Blue has nothing to say to that.

Blue doesn't see Loki for the rest of the day, but when he heads back to their room, finally letting himself be concerned, he sees that Loki is already tucked away in his own bed.

"Hey," Blue says, voice hushed in case the younger boy is asleep. "You okay? Missed you at group."

Loki grunts, which is strange, coming from a boy who is almost too articulate for someone so small, most of the time.

"Okay. If you want to talk..." Blue trails off, letting Loki have his space as he busies himself with getting ready for sleep himself. Only once he's turned the lights out and curled up in his own blankets does Loki talk.

"Blue?"

"Yeah?"

"If you wanna keep that notebook of yours, make sure you have it on you, okay?"

"Loki, what are you- are they moving us tonight?"

Loki shifts in the darkness, and Blue's eyes have adjusted enough that he can see the boy staring at him.

"Soon," is all he says, and in the dark it caries a weight that makes Blue shiver. "It will be soon. Just don't let us get separated, okay? They might try to break us up. Don't let them, okay?"

And Loki's probably aiming for something close to comfort, or assurance, but he just sounds scared.

"Of course," Blue says. "We'll stick together. Us and Gert."

"Us and Gert," Loki parrots, and then turns back to face the wall.

Loki's words send Blue's thoughts spinning, so much so that when there is a sharp knock on their door sometime past midnight and before dawn, he's still awake.

"Hello?" He calls out, but two guards are already coming through their door.

"Get up," one of them snaps, and Blue rushes to comply, reaching over to shake Loki awake too. Loki hardly requires a touch before he's sitting up in his own bed, so maybe Blue wasn't the only one who hadn't been able to sleep.

"What's happening?" Blue asks, but gets nothing. Loki grabs onto his wrist with a death grip, and Blue checks to make sure his notebook is still tucked into his waistband, where he put it earlier after Loki's warning. It's easily hidden by his long nightshirt, but Blue still expects one of the guards to snap at him to hand it over any second. They're given no time to pack, not that they have much anyway, and then they're being marched through the hallways, almost faster than their dead legs can handle. Blue doesn't feel pain, of course, but his legs are shaking and he has a sense of vague discomfort by the time they reach a door he's never been through before. There are others around him now, mostly young like them, although a few others that Blue recognizes as ones that have been here at least as long as him. The older ones mostly have something in their death that prevents them from living alone, disabilities they had no time to adjust to in life and no extra assistance offered in death. Everyone looks scared and confused.

Everyone except for Gert, who looks furious. She's short enough that her elbowing through the crowd to reach them appears to go unnoticed, and when Blue grabs her wrist in a mirror of how Loki's still clinging to his own, he feels much more solid. Secure. Whatever happens, they're together.

"I'm not sure my letter got out," is the first thing Gert says, in the hushed tone of a conspirator. "But Chase should be keeping an eye out for us anyway."

"What are you talking about?" In front of them, the door has opened, and they're getting pushed through it in twos. Blue tightens his grip on Gert's wrist, sure that if they could bruise he'd be leaving one, but Gert has no complaints, huddling closer to him and Loki like if they can just make themselves small enough no one will notice they're not a two but a three.

By the time they reach the guard at the door, all three of them are shaking with nervous anticipation. The man spares them a glance, then looks out the door.

"Only room for two more in this truck."

"We're all small," pipes up Loki. "Together we're pretty much exactly two regular sized people."

Gert makes a noise of disbelief, because she may be short but she doesn't really fit anyone's definition of small, but the guard just looks bored as he waves them through.

"It's your comfort, not mine."

Then they're outside, and Blue's blinking in surprise. It's raining, and he looks up, catching a few drops on his cheeks and eyelashes as he marvels at the idea of fresh air. It doesn't last more than a few seconds, because then they're being helped into a big truck, a line of benches on each side like some sort of army transport, and the doors shut behind Gert with a very final sound. The only light sources are two small windows, set into the sides too high to easily look through, and between the rain and the hour they offer little in the way of visibility.

"This isn't sketchy at all," Blue comments, and gets a chuckle somewhere to the left of him for his troubles. There's definitely one or two people crying, although Blue can't see anyone he really recognizes. He didn't really interact with people outside of his group, so even if he could see everyone's faces it wouldn't help him much. There's probably close to fifteen of them in here, and the guard was telling the truth. It's cramped, Loki on his right and Gert on his left, but it's a hundred times better than not knowing where either of them were.

"What's happening?" Someone asks, and Blue knows before Loki even opens his mouth that the boy's gonna say something dramatic. "Where are we going?"

"To the Island of Misfit Toys, of course!"

Beneath them, the truck rumbles to life, and they're off, heading into the great unknown, leaving everything Blue remembers of this world behind.

* * *

There's something wrong here.

Teddy stares at the empty drawer in front of him and tries not to panic. He knows he put it back here, after his shot. Well, he didn't, actually. But his mother had carefully put the gun for his shots away and he had watched her. Heart in his throat, he opened the fridge. No neurotriptyline.

"Mom?" He calls out, voice high with panic. "Kurt?"

No answer.

He'd woken up late today, his alarm hadn't gone off and now he can feel a timer in his chest, rattling against his ribs as it counts down. How long does he have before he loses himself entirely?

He can't be here when it happens. He can't risk his mother.

Really, there's only one option in front of him. He isn't going to stay here and see how long it takes him to revert into a monster. He isn't going to run into the woods and disappear.

He shoves open the door and starts to walk as fast as he is able towards Billy Kaplan's house. He wanted to give the boy space, but right now it's time that's important, and he's quickly running out.

He has to make it there in time. He has to.

* * *

 Loki can hardly sit still, he wants to get up and scream and shout but instead he's pinned between Blue and some dude Loki couldn't care less about who is listing to the left and also snoring. Snoring! Even if Loki didn't have a daring escape planned for tonight, he would be tense, getting carted off into the great unknown like they are. But nope, this guy's gone and fallen asleep on him. Humans truly are amazing.

_You're not human anymore,_ he reminds himself. _You're something more. Something_ special.

Except the idea of being special brings back other, nastier versions of the same idea, ones that make his skin crawl like bugs, like critters crawling over him as he pushes his way out of his shallow forest grave.

Enough of that.

He busies himself by counting turns, even though it doesn't matter, because he doesn't need to know how many left turns they make. He doesn't ever need to find his way back here. No looking back, always looking forward to the next trick, the next chapter in this new life of his.

When the van screeches to a halt, he looks over at Gert pointedly.

"Is this is?"

"Is this what?" Blue wants to know. And Loki feels bad for that, he does. They hadn't intentionally kept him in the dark, it's just that they'd plotted most of it when Billy was at therapy, and hadn't found a good secure time to fill him in, after that.

Also, and this Loki really does feel bad for that, no one really knows Blue. Not even Blue himself. What if he finally gets back some memories and he's some big snitch? It was safer just to leave it between him and Gert, and if they both have to work harder in order to keep Billy following behind them, that's just the risk they've decided to take. The least risky of the risks. Hopefully.

Loki reaches for Blue's arm in the dark. "Just follow us, okay?"

Gert reaches for the door, and then freezes. Loki frowns, and she shakes her head.

"Voices," she whispers.

"Do you really want to die for these freaks?" Loki catches, and his whole body tenses. Because yeah, they'd been pretty obvious they were about to move. If Loki, trapped inside with pretty much no resources, could figure out their plan, then surely other people could too. People who hated people like them, maybe.

"That doesn't sound friendly," Blue murmurs, as the others around them start to stir. No one talks over a whisper, and Loki realizes his oversight all at once. Him and Gert had been so ready to jump down the throats of the scientists around them, they hadn't stopped to consider that maybe the move was being kept quiet to make it harder for a whole other group of people to interfere. Of course it wasn't about some undead kids. It was about this, the sound of gruff voices, and then a call to stand down.

"You're right," says a faintly familiar voice. "No reason to spill blood over the dead."

"We need to get out of here," Gert whispers, and Loki wholeheartedly agrees.

"As soon as the door opens," he says, a little louder, hoping the others will listen. "We should all run."

"Are you kidding?" Replies someone near the front.

"What's happening?" Asks another.

Someone bangs against the side of the van, and a few of them, Loki included, scream. Laughter meets their fear, seeming to come from all sides, and Blue's eyes meet Loki's in the darkness, a parallel to their conversation earlier, a mockery.

With that laughter, Loki's even more convinced that his plan, though stupid, is quickly becoming their only option. And by the fear he sees in his two friends' eyes, they agree.

The door shudders, then opens, and Gert slams her weight against it, hitting whoever was behind it hard enough for them to let out a pained ooph as they fall backwards. Loki doesn't spare them a second glance, already tugging Blue out of the van, Gert close behind. He can't tell if anyone else is following, he doesn't get a good look at the people who stopped their truck. He keeps his eyes fixed on the trees around them, trying to think in crooked lines as shouts erupt behind them.

Loki tugs his two friends behind him, and once again, like a snake eating its own tail, like a theme he's already tired of, he's lost in the woods again.

* * *

Eli notices Kurt is acting strange before the meeting even begins.

Sometime during the Rising Eli had picked up a few things. Always keep Bishop on his right, and keep an eye out for Kurt. And even though now Kate would rather spend her time with rotters than with people (and what does it say about him, that he feels almost bad about that phrasing?), he still makes sure to have one eye on Kurt whenever they're in the same room. Before, it was so he could observe the man's cool head, his leadership skills, trying to learn as much as he could. Now... Now it's a little different.

Kurt is the first one at the pub, and behind the bar Tom pays him no mind when he walks in. Kurt's got this energy around him, a sort of hypervigilance Eli usually only sees on hunts. Eli takes a seat across the table from Kurt, but Kurt waves him closer. They're the only two in the bar, it being just past noon, but Kurt leans in like he's protecting a secret anyways.

"Bradley," he says, and Eli mirrors his posture, trying to ignore the unease in his gut. "You're a good kid. You're doing your grandfather proud."

Eli does his best not to flinch at that, because he could live his whole life in honour of his grandfather and still wouldn't agree with that statement. In fact, lately he feels his grandfather's stare on him always, sad at what he's become.

"Thanks," is all he says out loud. Kurt didn't even know his grandfather, is another thing, and the unease in Eli's belly starts to shift into anger.

"I'm worried about Teddy Altman," Kurt continues.

Before the Rising, the name meant very little to Eli. A boy who had joined the army, who had gone off and died a hero, and the whole town had mourned. Eli, bitter and angry with no direction for any of it, had looked at the tears of the people around him and wondered if they'd have reacted the same way, if their hometown hero had looked a little less 'All-American' and a little more like Eli. Not that it mattered, because even if he trusted the army enough to join up he couldn't leave his grandparents like that.

Post-Rising, Teddy Altman is a name that sets him on edge. He had been there, when the dead boy had come home. Aside from the scars, he had looked almost... Normal. Eli had watched him embrace his mother and felt strange, couldn't help but see all the faces of the rotters that would have o homecoming, thanks to him.

Between Teddy Altman's existence, and Kate's absence from his life, and the Kaplan boy too, he's not sure where he stands at all.

He looks at Kurt, at the tension in his body, and can't help but feel doubt.

"What about, sir?"

"He seems... Angry. Volatile. Won't take his anti-rotter medicine unless his mother forces him. This morning, I couldn't find him at all." Kurt shifts, and Eli's instincts bristle. _He's lying,_  says a little voice, and he knows that's true, but he doesn't know why. "Can you go check up on him? I would do it myself but I have to stay behind after the meeting today, work on the patrol schedule. And you two were friends, right? Maybe you can talk some sense into him."

Kurt has been very vocal about his opinion on the dead coming home. He doesn't think they have any sense to be had at all. Dread pools in Eli's gut, even as he nods.

"Of course."

"Thank you, Bradley. You're growing into a fine young man."

Months before, he would have taken the compliment and folded it up like a lucky charm, held it close to his chest. Now, he doesn't even want to touch it.

He can hardly pay attention at the meeting, already afraid of what he'll find at the Altman house. Unable to quiet his concerns, he murmurs a hasty goodbye and leaves early. When he looks at Kurt, there's a hungry eagerness in his eyes as he watches Eli leave the table.

He barely waits for the bar's door to close behind him before he begins to run.

* * *

There's someone banging on Kaplan's door.

"Coming, coming!" he says, because no one else is home. He pushes down the idea that it might be Kate. She's supposed to be miles away, trying to track down who he might be at any of the treatment factories nearby. He gave her rough directions to the real one he was at, which she's planning on checking out if her trip to the one the public is allowed to visit proves to be useless. He's trying to not be too hopeful, because if they knew anything then he wouldn't have ended up in the wrong place in the first place, right? He is also trying not to dwell on the timing, on the idea that Kate made up this trip just so she can put some distance between them.

For a moment, she kissed him back.

He looks through the peephole and is surprised to see a familiar face on the other side of the door.

Opening the door a crack, he scowls at Teddy Altman. "What do you want?"

"Billy!" He pauses, corrects himself. "Kaplan. Sorry. My neurotriptyline has gone missing, the gun, all of it. I was wondering if-"

Kaplan is already yanking the door open and pulling him inside. "How'd you manage to lose that?" Teddy follows him up the stairs without question, and Kaplan wonders how much time Teddy had spent here, in some past life.

"I didn't, I always keep it in the same place, I think Ku- Someone, someone must have moved it."

Kaplan's hands make quick work of refilling the gun, all the stuff still by his bed from where he had left it earlier, and with it in hand, he turns to face Teddy. He tries not to look in the boy's eyes, or at his scars, which means he's left staring at the wall over his left shoulder. "Sit."

Teddy sits on the edge of his unmade bed, tension in every part of him. His eyes flicker over the room, and there's something uncomfortable in the corner of his mouth. "It's like nothing's changed."

"I wouldn't know," Kaplan says, and then presses the gun to the hole at the back of Teddy's neck and gives him the shot. Maybe he should have warned him, he thinks belatedly, but his skin is crawling with the boy being here, in this room. Like they're intruding on Billy more so than usual. If he is taking that out on Teddy, just a little bit... Well, that's something he'll just keep to himself.

Teddy shakes a little as the neurotriptyline goes in, eyes fluttering as he relives through whatever the drug brings back for him, and then he sighs, the tension draining out of him all at once.

"Thanks," he says, voice soft and apologetic. "I didn't know who else to go to."

Almost in spite of himself Kaplan wonders if Teddy has anyone in his corner. Not those violent boys he was with, the other day. He has no Kate to watch his back.

He's not ready to forgive the boy on Billy's behalf, that's not his place. But he can feel for him, just a little.

"It's nothing," he says, trying to make that ring true. Teddy looks up at him, surprise obvious on his face, and Kaplan is kinda insulted. "What, you really thought I was gonna turn you away, let you go all rabid?"

Teddy shrugs, his smile sliding towards self-deprecating. "I wouldn't have blamed you."

This is too much for Kaplan. He puts his shit away and heads for the door. "Let's go."

"Where are we going?" Teddy asks, already falling in behind him.

Kaplan had mostly just wanted him out of Billy's room, but now a plan is forming. A plan Kate would definitely consider breaking the 'don't do anything stupid' agreement they had made, but that's fine. It's not like he's running off all on his own.

"Don't you want help finding out who moved your meds?"

He's outside before Teddy can protest, feeling like he's finally doing something, his body moving smoother than it has in ages, now that he's given it a mission, and he can't help but grin.

* * *

Someone is following them. Judging by the level of noise, it's a couple someones, and by the way they're shouting, they are not their companions from the trucks, but the people who stopped them.

Gert doesn't waste time looking behind her to confirm this, just focuses on putting one foot in front of the other. She's definitely the slowest of the three, which isn't fair because as far as life-ending injuries go hers was fairly contained to her chest, but still her limbs drag and it's not like she was particularly fast even before lying in a coffin for months.

"Come on," Blue mutters, and she's not sure if it's encouragement for her or for himself. "Come on."

"We gotta find a road," she gets out, hoping Loki can still catch her words. "There's no way Chase will find us out here."

Loki moving through the woods almost looks natural, which is strange because he struggles in the hallways just like the rest of them. He's barely looking at where he's putting his feet, and if he's not careful he'll leave the two others behind. "Road's too busy right now, we just gotta get away."

There's a loud sound behind them, and something hits a tree to their left. A bullet. They're getting shot at.

"Shit!" Shouts Blue, and he trips, goes down. Gert stops to help him up, and Loki gets further ahead. Gert is watching him, even as she grabs Blue's arm, so when the younger boy suddenly disappears it takes her a moment to process it. Blue is up and running again, but even slower than before, and another gunshot sounds behind them. They both flinch.

They get to where Loki had suddenly disappeared, and see that they're actually at the top of a rather steep hill. Gert is just wondering whether it's faster to just throw herself down it and take the bumps that come with it when there's a hiss to their left.

"Over here!"

The hill becomes steeper on that side, and roots create an overhang as the ground drops off. Tucked in amongst those roots is their boy with white eyes, wildly beckoning them over. Blue and her stumble towards him, and he pulls them into the cave-like space the tree roots form with not a second to waste. Two men reach the top of the hill, guns in hand. Gert finds Loki's hand and Blue's too, holds tight as the two men debate whether going down the hill is worth it.

"We got most of them. Let's get back to the others."

They turn away, their footsteps magnified by the panic that fills their hiding place. Only once Gert can no longer hear them does she let herself breathe again.

"That was fucked up," she says, unnecessarily. But she has to say something, has to remind herself that they did it, they're out in the woods on their own, they escaped the truck and those men with guns and they're okay, they're going to be okay.

Blue is looking at their little hiding place with wonder. "Like in Lord of the Rings," he says, and Gert stares at him, because that scene was definitely not in the books.

"At least he's remembering the important stuff first," she says to Loki, who still hasn't moved. His eyes are shut tight, and he's shaking.

Gert and Blue share a look of concern. "Loki?"

In the smallest voice she's ever heard him use, he asks "Can we stop being underground, now?"

She hadn't even thought of it like that, but her memories of crawling out of her grave were some of the first she regained, and she's had a lot of time to work through them. She's not sure if Blue remembers his reawakening at all. But Loki...

"Of course," she says, and together they climb out of their dirt cave, blinking in the darkness that is not as dark as it should be, to their undead eyes. Reborn again, Gert can't help but think. This time, on their own terms.

"Let's go find that boy of mine," she says, and they start to make their way down the hill, slowly and carefully, all still holding hands.

* * *

Faced with his own front door, Teddy is filled with a fear he can't quite put a name to. He has no reason for it, with Kaplan next to him and with neurotriptyline flowing through him now. Crisis averted, right?

But he still feels like he's on the edge of something terrible, that opening the door will change everything.

Kaplan makes an impatient noise and reaches for the door handle. It turns, unlocked, and Teddy can't remember if that's a bad sign or not. Did he not lock it behind him? He can't remember. It's too early for his mom to be home from work.

He pushes the door open and walks inside. Teddy follows, off balance.

There's someone in their kitchen.

The person turns at the sound of them entering, and Teddy recognizes him. Eli Bradley, HVF armband still around his bicep. His eyes are wide, and there's blood on his hands.

Teddy gets stuck on the blood. He knows he should be doing things, should be demanding answers, should be angry or scared or something, but his mind sees the blood and short-circuits. It's Kaplan who steps forwards, hands balled into fists, and demands to know what's going on.

"You need to leave," Eli says. "Get out of here."

"What the fuck happened?"

Eli's eyes flicker towards the living room, and Teddy is moving before he remembers deciding to, ignoring Kaplan's reaching hand and Eli's protests.

It takes him a moment to recognize the body. Again, he has to fight through the blood first. There's not a lot of it, a pool around her, tracks leading away from her, staining their carpet. Later, he'll think about the scene and realize that meant that some of the wounds must have happened after she died, because there's too many wounds for that amount of blood.

"Mom?" He says. His own voice is unreconizable, broken and keening. "Mom?"

He steps forwards. Hands hold him back, two sets.

"Fuck," whispers Kaplan, horror in his eyes.

Eli's eyes are bright but his hands are firm. "Altman. Listen to me. You have to leave."

He's shaking, not pulling against their grips but leaning into them, and if they were to let go he thinks he might just fall and not get up again, and he knows he can't bleed anymore but he feels like he must be, head spinning at the loss, vision fracturing at the edges.

"He didn't do this," Kaplan is arguing.

"I know he didn't. But they're going to think he did."

"He was set up! Someone stole his meds, too-"

"I believe you! But no one else will, and once they see this it's not like they'll bother to ask questions, they're not going to ask him to stand trial, they'll kill him, and they'll probably try to root out every one of the rest of you, so you should both go, really."

"But we didn't do anything wrong!"

He sounds more like Billy than ever, voice high and indignant, and that's enough to snap Teddy's eyes away from the body of his mother, turn to the boy he used to know instead.

"Where could we go?" He feels faint. Can he faint, like this? He doesn't know, he doesn't know anything, his mother bled out alone on their living room floor and he wasn't there and it's all his fault and it will be no matter where he goes. "We don't... What do I do?"

Eli looks at them both, and then something changes in him. He stands up taller, or is suddenly more sure.

"Go grab what you need," he says. "Hurry, because Kurt will be back soon."

"And then what?" Kaplan asks, still spitting mad.

"Can either of you drive?"

Both of them shake their heads. Not in this life. Not like this.

Eli sighs, bud he doesn't look surprised. "I'll help then," he says. "I'll help you get out of here."

It's not a plan, but it's something, and if Teddy let's himself stop moving it will be like the desert again, frozen in front of his friend's body, waiting for the bomb to fall, waiting for someone to take the decision to live out of his hands entirely.

"She keeps her keys in her purse," he finds himself saying, and goes upstairs to pack.

Nothing feels real.

In this moment, Teddy understands Billy better than ever.

**Author's Note:**

> [Come say hi on tumblr.](http://hulklinging.tumblr.com)


End file.
